Part I of the Bad Liar Duo: Pretty Big Lies
by sarajoreed
Summary: Even though Anastasia Steele saw the one and only Christian Grey first, her sister Leila saw him second. Trapped in a life of always being second best, Ana sets out to win but ends up falling for the man and the Dominant, only to lose everything and everybody around her. Including the only family she knows. “Sometimes, there’s honor in revenge.” OOC. HEA. Part I in the Bad Liar Duo
1. Pretty Big Lies: Summary

Even though Anastasia Steele saw the one and only Christian Grey first, her sister Leila saw him second. Trapped in a life of always being second best, Ana sets out to win but ends up falling for the man and the Dominant, only to lose everything and everyone around her. Including the only family she knows. "Sometimes, there's Honor in revenge." Slightly OOC. HEA. Cheating ONLY occurs between Ana Christian. Part I Of II in the Bad Liar Duo.

 **Notes from the Author:**

Titles for both books come from a play on words from a song called _Teen Idle_ by Marina and The Diamonds. It took me quite a while to find a title that worked. But after skimming over previous unfinished work, I found Pretty Big Lies worked fairly well . . . Along with the title for the second book which will not be announced until it's time.

The title for the two part series comes from the song _Bad Liar_ by Selena Gomez. You just need to watch the music video to feel inspired by that one. It also goes along fairly well with the storyline.

As always, a huge thank you to E.L James. For without her, these works of FanFiction wouldn't be possible.

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **First and foremost, this was originally part of the "Hot Summer Nights" - a FSOG Fanfic Followers Group Challenge. I saw the challenge back in June and decided to add a Prologue to my story before officially releasing it on FanFiction. I thought it was a great challenge and a fantastic way to introduce myself into the world of FF writing. The stories I had a chance to read in the challenge were just an added bonus! I highly recommend that you check them out and give them a vote!**

 **Unfortunately, I was accused of stealing storylines and/or plagiarism by commenters a few days in. I've dealt with stolen plotlines and/or plagiarism with my own work before and would never intentionally use someone's work as my own.**

 **I've already been in contact with the author and everything has checked out okay.**

 **This is the last I will talk about any so called "plagiarism."**

 **Any actual questions can be directed to MY inbox. But please note, rude and/or hateful messages or comments WILL be ignored.**

 **Now . . . onto the actual story.**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	2. Prologue

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Scorching, blistering summer heat. That's what I woke up to in the middle of June.

Saturday, June 21st, 2008 to be exact.

The very day I was to be married.

Rolling over I run my hand over the mass of mahogany locks tumbling over the slim figure lying in my bed right beside me.

Porcelain skin as fine as a china doll adorned the little nymphet snoring softly with a small smile etched upon her perfect mouth, looking as if it had been painted pink.

I'd never seen anything more . . . perfect. She was perfect. From her head full of beautiful hair right down to the tips of her toes. I'd never had been a foot man, but the little morsel could easily change that. One taste of her and she had changed everything.

 _Even her skin tasted sweet._

Sitting up I run my hands through my unruly and damp copper locks before dragging my hands down my sweat covered face, tracing my fingers along my jawline feeling the scruff that's grown since the previous morning.

 _She_ didn't like it.

Tossing the sheets to the side, I stand and stretch before walking into the bathroom.

Stone. I had been buried deep inside that little nymph until nearly six and still, I was hard as stone.

Shaking my head, I wash my hands before heading into my closet. I dress in a pair of dark blue shorts and a soft white t-shirt before adorning my favorite Nike's and grabbing my iPod off the dresser.

With one last glance I debate on crawling back into bed, right between the legs of that little nymph, but shake my head. I couldn't. Not again. She was too much of a temptation. Too much of a high risk.

Stepping out into the living room I find Taylor already waiting.

"Sir."

"Taylor. Any updates overnight? Like why it feels like a fucking sauna in here?"

"Well as you can tell, the air is not working. I have someone on route. They should be here within two hours."

"It's fucking miserable," I growl. "Get it fixed. Fast. Anything else?"

"Your brother made it home in one piece and will be here at one, along with your father, her father, and your grandfather."

"And the ladies?"

"They are scheduled to arrive at the hotel restaurant around eleven for brunch. Once done they will be driven over to the golf club, followed by hair and makeup provided by _Escalva_ in the bridal suite."

"The rings?"

"In the safe, ready for when your brother arrives."

"Good." I pause and Taylor looks at me expectantly.

"Was there anything else, Mr. Grey?"

"Her sister ended up staying last night. She was too drunk to be sent home to her mother. Have a change of clothes ready for her. And breakfast delivered for us once I've showered."

"I'm sure Mrs. Jones would be happy to round something up, Sir."

"Very well."

We step into the elevator and Taylor begins tapping away on his phone as I press the button for the lobby.

As we step outside a few minutes later, I'm met by blistering heat. I was looking for some relief from the humidity inside, only to find it's worse.

Sticking my earbuds in, I take off on one of my usual routes with Taylor close behind.

As my feet pound against the pavement, I think back to the very first time I laid my eyes on her.

 _Sitting in the car I watch through the tinted windows as she waltz's up to the door in her six inch stilettos. She was a spitfire. A taste of rain after a six month drought._

 _Halfway up the sidewalk a tiny little brunette bounds down the side of the house and halfway across the yard with a scowl wretched across her face._

 _I should have known with how beautiful she was that her younger sister would be just as gorgeous. But I never gathered that she would be the hurricane._

 _"What are you doing here?"_

 _The six inch stilettos crunch against the gravel as she turns, hands on her slim hips._

 _"I should be asking you that question. I thought you were at school?"_

 _"I'm home for the weekend but that is besides the point. What are you doing here? And how in the fuck are you wearing Christian_ _Louboutins_ _? I know mom buys you everything but even you ar_ _en't_ ** _that_** _spoiled."_

 _She glances at the car and I take a deep breath before cracking open the door and stepping out._

 _Standing tall, I button my jacket as I make my way over to the girls._

 _As I take in her sister I have to control my gaze of wonder._

 _There would never be a creature so beautiful on Earth. It just couldn_ _'t be._

 _Petite but with curves that are hidden beneath her denim shorts and dark gray, nearly black t-shirt, complete with a snarky look upon her face._

 _She's_ _perfection. Her heart shaped face is pure porcelain, not a blemish in sight. Perfect cheekbones accentuate her face with the smallest of dimples. A small, straight nose with a dainty, almost elvish tip, makes her look as if she belongs in some fairytale. Her lips and turned into the perfect pink pout, but it's her eyes that truly captivate me._

 _They're a steel blue with small specks of green and gray in the shining sun. They're so stunning that I nearly forget to blink._

 _When I do, I find she's also studying me. She offers me an impish grin and bats her dark lashes coquettishly, all the while tucking her mahogany hair back behind her ear._

 ** _Fuck, even her dainty pixie ears are perfect._**

 _"Christian, this is my little sister. Sis, this is my fiancé."_

 _I offer the small beauty a rare smile as I stick out my hand in greeting._

 _"Christian Grey, and you are?"_

 _"Anastasia Steele._

"Oh my God! It's Christian Grey!"

I hear the screech of girls as my music switches over, effectively knocking me out of my pleasant daydream.

Looking over my shoulder, Taylor gives me a knowing look and just like that we're heading back to the ivory tower that is _Escala_.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

When we enter the lobby of _Escala_ my body is dripping with sweat.

Stepping into the elevator with Taylor as my shadow, I quickly enter the code for the penthouse.

"Mrs. Jones said she's more than happy to fix you breakfast rather than ordering out."

"Good. Any word on the air conditioning?"

"They are on route and will be here within the hour."

"Fucking finally," I growl as I step off the elevator and head towards the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, I bask in the cool air for a moment before reaching in and pulling out a bottle of water.

I down half of it before turning and finding Mrs. Jones walking in.

"Good morning Mr. Grey."

"Mrs. Jones."

"Your usual egg white omelette?"

"Yes, please."

"Are the usual pancakes and bacon okay for your guest?"

I blink in surprise and she shrugs somewhat sheepishly.

"I was in the laundry room when you came in last night. Clothes are in the wash and an outfit has already been delivered. It's hanging in your closet, Sir."

My brow furrows as I stare her down and clench the bottle of water in my hand tightly, causing it to make that god awful plastic crunching-pop sound.

"Mr. Grey, may I remind you. I signed an NDA when I began to work for _you_ , and you alone."

I take a deep breath and nod.

"I take it this wasn't yet mentioned to Taylor?"

She purses her lips and shakes her head.

"No, however I don't like keeping things from him. And as your head of security it's important that he's informed."

"Well, I'm off to shower. You may inform your boyfriend yourself."

Mrs. Jones eyes widen and she has the grace to blush.

"Mr. Grey, I-"

"There's a no fraternization policy at Grey House. Not here," I wink as I turn on my heel and walk away. Leaving a gaping Mrs. Jones to make breakfast.

I had notice the chemistry between Gail Jones and Jason Taylor from the first morning they worked together.

Their relationship never bothered with either of their jobs and to be honest, it was refreshing to see two people so in love.

Besides, it was easier. This way neither of them had a reason to bring strange people around and as a bonus, I never had to worry about two of the best people I had on my payroll leaving.

They were in love with one another and had no prospects for future children, so this way there was absolutely no chance of them leaving me with no staff.

It was pure bliss.

Grinning to myself I step into my bedroom that was quickly becoming a sauna.

Finding the little morsel left in my bed laying atop of the sheets, bare as the day she was born, I grin.

The possibilities with this one were sublime. Taking in her form, I notice a little rope burn left upon one of her delicate wrists and frown.

Quickly I shoot a text off to Taylor with a few more instructions for the morning, before downing the rest of my water and tossing it in the trash.

Sauntering over I carefully trace the muscles along her back, stopping only when I reach her smooth bottom. Ever so carefully, I give one cheek a firm squeeze, causing her to stir.

With a sleepy grin she gazes at me for a few moments before sitting up, putting her weight on her elbows.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey," she murmurs, smacking her lips.

"And what a beautiful morning it is."

"You're all hot and sweaty," she breathes.

"Yes, it appears so. Yet, so are you. I thought I would cool off with a shower while we wait for the air conditioning to be fixed. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you only wish to get me dirty again, Mr. Grey."

"You may be right, Little One."

She practically hums as she drags her lip between her teeth and I can't help but grin at her as I take the opportunity to slide my fingers through her slick folds.

"Do you like it when I call you Little One?"

"Yes, Sir."

I groan and lean down, pressing my lips to her own.

"Well, there's more where that came from," I stand and offer her my hand with a smirk. "Come."

I couldn't wait to be buried in her slick heat once more.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

We're sitting at the breakfast bar devouring our meal when Taylor steps into the room.

"Sir, your brother is on his way up."

I steal a glance into the steel blue eyes of my little nymph and offer a shrug.

"Let him know we're both in here."

"Of course, Mr. Grey."

A moment later Elliot saunters in looking far too merry for a man who was drunk out of his mind nearly six hours before.

"If it isn't the man of the hour," he grins before placing a swift kiss on a porcelain cheek. "And what brings you here this morning little lady? I mean, I'll never tell that you weren't where you were supposed to be last night, but curious minds would like to know."

I lift my cup of coffee to my lips and take a long sip.

"I had too much to drink last night," she shrugs. "Besides, I wasn't invited along this morning."

I pause as I go to set my mug down.

"Excuse me?"

"She didn't invite me along," she shrugs. "I'm not part of the wedding party so . . ." She trails off with a lost sort of look.

"But you were at the Bachelorette party last weekend," I point out.

"Only at the insistence of Mia."

I frown before throwing a glance at my brother who looks equally as confused.

"Wait, so she invited Kate along and not you?"

She nods, her mass of waves bouncing with the motion.

"Your mother didn't say anything to her about not inviting you?"

"My mother encouraged it," says flippantly with a roll of her eyes.

I narrow my gaze and clench my jaw at the motion. The littlest of things could get under my skin and that was most definitely one of them.

"Wait, is that why you and Katie ditched them for us last weekend and yet again last night?"

"Oh, you mean besides the fact that you wanted to bone one another?" She smirks.

Elliot's mouth falls open and I shake my head.

"You didn't."

"She was offering and she wasn't nearly as drunk as she was pretending to be," he says before turning towards her. "Besides, you wouldn't have brought her along if it wasn't what she truly wanted."

"Just be careful. It's not like you live close and the two of you both have a tendency to not be serious. Kate needs serious."

"Yeah, I'm not ready for that," he shrugs, "But neither is she. Said so this morning when we showered. Although we agreed to hookup again tonight in honor of the wedding festivities and all. Make it a weeklong thing."

I shake my head at my older brother.

It was a technicality, him being older. If anything I acted as the older brother in whatever relationship we had. We'd never been close and seeing as he didn't much care for my fiancé, it didn't seem as if we ever would be.

"Just please, be careful," She chides.

"I will Banana, but you need to be careful too. You're young and men are pigs."

"I know. I'm sitting with two of them," She snarks.

Elliot laughs and throws me a grin.

"You got the one sister, I think I'm going to snatch this one up Chrissy."

"Watch it, Lelliot."

Those blue eyes roll and she makes to stand.

"As fun as this is, I need to get going so I can decide on getting ready or just not going."

"Wait, you'd seriously not show up?"

She shrugs at Elliot with a nonchalant look upon her face.

"It's not as if she wants me there. Besides, I'd probably end up protesting against the marriage when asked to speak now or forever hold your piece."

I blanch, "What?"

She looks back at me mischievously.

"My sister doesn't deserve you. She's wicked and downright cruel."

"That's not the-"

"Girl you know. Yeah, I got it. But if you'd heard half of what she did to be when I was a teenager, then you'd realize you're marrying a very different girl today. And not different in a turnabout way, but different in a 'I've got this man wrapped around my finger and everyone around us completely fooled,' sort of way."

"I like how mischievous your sister is. It's one of the things that drew me to her."

She tilts her head to her left, the tips of her curls brushing across her waistline.

"She's not mischievous, she's vindictive. Did you know that our treehouse burned down?"

"She mentioned something about it once. Why?"

She sits back down on the barstool and lets out a dry sort of laugh.

"It was set on fire. It wasn't just treehouse. Greg had built a whole loft that connected to the 2nd floor balcony. Which was outside of our bedrooms. It was our own sanctuary and it was the place where she could do whatever she wanted to do.

Boys, parties, drugs. You name it, she did it. And of course, according to Carla, I needed to be more like her. So I was forced to tag along nearly one-hundred percent of the time.

She hated it. She resented me for it and you want to know what she did? She left me sleeping out there after giving me god-knows-what and lit the place up in flames."

"That's not possible," I scoff.

Those steel blue eyes rolls back and she stands with a scowl on her face.

"Of course. I'm lying. That has to be it. I'm going now."

I watch her carry her plate to the sink, and when she goes to move past me, I catch her wrist.

"Call Kate and you can both get ready here. I'll call and have someone sent from the salon. Please?"

"Kate's already at the hotel. But thanks for the offer."

"Then I'll call someone just for you. Taylor is out running an errand, I'll have him pick up whatever you need."

"My dress is at the store. I'm supposed to pick it up from Caroline Acton today."

"Wait, you don't have a matching dress?" Elliot frowns.

"Well . . . I picked out my dress with her at our mothers insistence. It had to be approved by the bride. And it was . . . At least it was at first. I may have chosen a different color than what the bride had envisioned."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Well she chose blazing red as her theme and she tried to get a dress in a matching color but I argued and managed to choose a softer color. I didn't want to match the bridesmaids and I certainly didn't want to manage to be in a dress that was even brighter. I'm not a fire engine."

Elliot tosses his head back laughing and I can only shake my head.

"I'll make sure Miss Acton delivers the dress here. Along with whatever accessories you may need. Why don't you run along to the library and I'll let you know when she's on her way."

She looks for a moment as if she's going to debate with me, but seems to decide against it.

"Fine. But I'll do my own hair and makeup."

"Nonsense. I'll have Elena send someone from _E_ _scalva_."

"Of course, one of her slaves," she quips with a curl of her lip.

"I could definitely see Cruella being a slave master," Elliot snickers.

"It makes sense. After all, _Escalva_ does translate to slave."

Elliot's nose wrinkles up in disgust.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He asks, turning towards me. "I mean you have to know being her business partner."

"Silent partner," I argue, glancing to my right where my mischievous little pixie sits upon the barstool.

"And again I ask, why?"

"Something along the lines of women being a slave to beauty. Mom thought it was clever," I offer.

"Of course she did. Mom is naive to the likes of Elena Lincoln."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask defensively.

"Just that the women is a predator in six inch stilettos with a whip attached. Honestly Christian. You have achieved so much by reading people. I don't get how you have let yourself be fooled by that botox Barbie."

"She lent me he money for GEH, Elliot."

"Okay, but only for her own benefit. She got a chain of salons out of it and your name attached. She's like a dairy maid. Milking men for what they are worth. Look at her ex."

"That's enough," I growl. "I'll call Taylor, have the dress and everything else arranged."

She traces her delicate pink tongue along the line of her bottom lip before she sinks her teeth into the plump skin.

"Stop biting your lip." I pause at Elliot's curious look. "You'll make it bleed. I have calls to make. Why don't you enjoy the library while we wait."

She nods and heads off without a glance back and Elliot shakes his head.

"I'm telling you bro, you picked the wrong sister. That is one fine little piece of-"

I whack him upside the head before he can finish his sentence, and pull out my phone, bringing it up to my ear as it rings.

"Taylor."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"Mr. Grey, it's lovely to see you."

"You as well, Ms. Acton. Have you brought what was needed?" I ask, eyeing the clothing rack that has not one, but eight different garment bags handing from it.

"Well, that's where I've run into a problem." She glances at the beauty at my side and smiles.

"You see, the soon-to-be Mrs. Grey called and made a change to the dress you ordered."

"What kind of change?" She asks wearily.

Instead of answering Caroline Acton pulls one garment bag from the rack and hangs it at the end.

"Now, don't get me wrong. This is a beautiful dress. However, I found it somewhat suspicious for a wedding ceremony."

She pulls the zipper down to reveal a fire engine red dress. One look at my little nymph and I know it's not what she chose.

"T-Th-That's not my dress," she all but whimpers beside me.

"The color theme is red, but not that shade."

"Correct Mr. Grey. The color your fiancé chose is in fact a shade or two darker. She placed the call a few days after the order was made. I informed her that the dress had already been put aside. I decided to keep it that way while also choosing the color she said her sister had decided on."

"Which was?"

"It's a soft color called Dusty Rose. Being as I knew the dress didn't match the wedding party and that the order wasn't changed by the wearer of the dress herself, I found the whole predicament somewhat odd."

"You have the dress I chose?"

"Yes, along with different undergarments and accessories."

She turns towards me and I nod.

"Go with the one you want."

"I don't want to upset my sister and I paid her for the dress already. Against my better judgement, I'll go with the red. It is what she ordered."

With a frown upon my face I shake my head fiercely.

"The entire thing will be charged to the Grey account," I say pointedly to Ms. Acton. "Once she is dressed and the other clothing is picked up, make sure that whatever is not worn this evening is delivered to her apartment where the delivery was originally supposed to go."

"Of course, Mr. Grey," she responds politely.

"Taylor," I call out only for him to appear a moment later. "Assist Ms. Acton with the clothing upstairs to the guest bedroom."

"Of course, Sir. Ma'am?"

Caroline Acton follows Taylor, dragging the rack behind her.

I turn to the little nymph and offer her a smile.

"Wear what you chose for this evening. If there's an argument, it's all on me."

"Thank you, Christian," she murmurs softly.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

A vision wrapped in a dress of what I can only describe as a soft rose descends the stairs before me, and the men in the room take notice.

The A-Line dress is fit for a princess. The bottom is a dusty rose tulle while the top half is covered in a beautiful lace. With a sweetheart neckline, the delicate straps sweep up her slim shoulders and as she turns, cross over her back in six lines. With her creamy white skin, she's a delicate blushing vision.

My dad greets her first, kissing her cheek.

"Darling girl, you look simply beautiful."

"Thank you Mr. Grey," She chirps.

"None of that. I've told you, call me Carrick."

"Carrick," she smiles.

I let Elliot, Gramps, and even Greg greet the little nymph before I steal her away.

"Little One, you are simply a vision."

"Thank you," She flushes.

"I have something for you," I press, reaching into the pocket of my tuxedo, I pull out a blue box.

"What?"

I open the box revealing the _T_ _iffany Enchant Flower_ bracelet. A mere $28,000 of platinum and diamonds for the girl who had given me her most precious gift.

"Christian you shouldn't have-"

"Your wrist," I instruct.

She offers me her right wrist but I simply shake my head.

"The other, Little One."

She lifts up her wrist and flushes as I pull the bracelet from the _Ti_ _ffany Blue_ box.

"As you can see, I simply had too," I reply in reference to the slight rope burn along her alabaster skin.

"Thank you," She murmurs. "It's stunning."

"Not as stunning as you, I'm afraid. But I had to get it for you. A bracelet of flowers for the one delicate flower you chose to gift to me."

She nearly turns scarlet as I reference the gift of her virginity that she bestowed on me just a week before. It had been a complete surprise, but a good one at that.

Which only made me wonder exactly what I was doing today. Why was I walking down the aisle when I had this little nymphette before me? Why, when she was warming my bed just mere hours before?

 _Because you made a commitment to the woman you're about to spend the rest of your life with._

 _She's beautiful and knows the ins and outs of society thanks to Elena._

 _Because you're compatible in the playroom. She can go for hours._

 _Because you have always followed the rules of monogamy._

Shit.

It had to end.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"What is so important that you had to talk to me _before_ our wedding? It's bad luck to see the bride!"

"Technically I can't see you," I say from the other side of the door.

"You're impossible."

"I have a question."

"Okay?"

"Your sister-"

"Oh God, what has the tramp done now?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is it?!" She practically screeches.

"The treehouse . . . She claims-"

"That I set it on fire with her inside of it?"

"Yes . . ."

"I didn't," she breathes. "Christian, my sister is unstable. She's ruined every serious relationship I've ever been in. I didn't burn the treehouse down. She did. After a night of drinking and drugs she seduced my boyfriend, and then, after she realized what she had done, she torched the place."

"You're serious?" I ask breathlessly.

 _Surely, not my little nymph._

"Yes. Thank God they ruled it an accident. And thank God they both got out okay. She was delirious when she lit the place up and managed to trap herself inside."

"So she blames it all on you?"

"Unfortunately, Yes. Moms never believed her and my relationship with my little sister has never been the same. It's a shame. If she had just been honest . . . Maybe she would have said yes to being my Maid of Honor."

"You asked her to be your Maid of Honor?"

"Of course I did! She's my sister. Nothing's more important than family."

I think back to what that little nymph had told me and shake my head in disgust. She was only trying to come between me and my soon-to-be wife. And I had almost fallen for it.

"You're right."

"What brought this on?"

"Just something she said. It's not important."

"One of her coke-fueled rants I'm sure," she scoffs.

I pause, "I'll see you at the end of the aisle?"

"I'll be the one in white."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

 _"Do you, Christian Trevelyan Grey, take Leila Williams to be your lawfully wedded wife?"_

 _My heart nearly stops at the question but my lips move all on their own._

 _"I do."_

 _"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!"_

She was a woman lost in a sea of tulle, but she was beautiful nonetheless.

Her bourbon eyes sparkle in the light of the ballroom as we greet our guests.

It's a flurry of activity between pictures and before reception drinks. The reception itself is filled with the unnatural heat breezing in through the open doors of the hall in the heart of Seattle. And it's briefly mentioned in speeches from my best man, her maid of honor, our parents, and in the middle of the first dance. And then, during the cutting of our wedding cake.

It was beautiful, but far too elaborate for my own tastes.

Tier upon tier of white buttercream and red roses. Both sugared and real. Inside, a rich red velvet cake.

I sigh at the half-eaten masterpiece of pure sugar and give my mother a warm smile when she looks at me with concern written across her face.

"Christian, why don't you ask your lovely wife's sister for a dance. She hasn't moved a muscle since Elliot and your father gave her a whirl around the dance floor."

"Mother-"

"Christian, please," she says sweetly, in the way only a mother can.

I give her a brief kiss on the cheek before making my way over to the table where the blue-eyed pixie awaits.

"Enjoying the married life?"

I frown at her empty champagne glass and shake my head.

"You're not old enough to be drinking that."

"Oh, please. As if anyone will notice. Not little old me."

"Sir."

I turn to Taylor as he makes his way over.

"Your car will be here within half an hour."

"Alright, then. Let me talk to my bride and we'll get ready to head out."

Taylor nods and makes leave as I glance at her once again.

"Care for one last rendezvous before you're officially a honeymooner?"

"Don't start-"

"One last time?" She asks softly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

I feel myself grow incredibly hard at the motion and swallow past the lump in my throat.

Without a word, I turn away from the table and head towards my Mrs. Grey who tosses her arms around my neck with a smile plastered across her face.

The embrace that should be warm, is only stiff as the panic begins to rise in my chest.

"Christian, it's almost time for the garter and flower toss."

I smile at her and place a light kiss on the corner of her mouth before her next words churn my stomach.

"I hope my sister doesn't catch it. She deserves to be alone."

I pull back out of the stiff embrace and smile once more.

"We'll do the toss after I talk with Taylor. Just give me fifteen minutes."

"Okay," she shrugs and turns away, grabbing a new glass of champagne off a passing tray.

I turn and meet the doe eyed beauty across the room before nodding my head towards the hall.

With a grin I grab two champagne flutes off a tray and make my way forward.

Rounding the corner I wait for just a moment before her cascade of mahogany curls rush into my awaiting embrace.

At the taste of her lips, I groan in pleasure before pulling back.

"I know the perfect place," she says, answering my unspoken question.

We stumble into what appears to be an unused coat room - seemingly not required during the blistering heat of June this time around.

The door is barely shut behind us and our champagne is forgotten when I set it down and grasp her by her waist and hoist her up, only to slam her body back into the door.

Adrenaline courses through my veins and in one motion I turn the lock, effectively caging us in as I crash my lips to hers. The small gasp that leaves her lips earns her a deep groan.

My little nymph opens her lips as I tease her with my tongue, whimpering into the kiss as I tighten my hold on her delicate waist.

As I feel the usual spark from the moment we touch, I slide my right hand up her side and into her cascading curls, gripping it in my fist.

I manage to pull myself away from the dainty morsel, gasping for breath. I find her eyes wild and full of lust as my pulse thunders through my ears.

"There's not going to be one last tryst before I'm a honeymooner," I growl and her gaze falls. "Not in this moment, and not when I arrive home. Because you're _mine_ , Little One," I purr. Her breath catches in her throat as she stares up at me in astonishment. From my words or my hard as stone erection throbbing against her core, I'm unsure. "Mine and no one else's."

"You honestly think you have the ability to just keep me to yourself?" She groans, kissing me with insatiable hunger as I moan and grind my erection into her increasingly slick core.

"Yes."

"While you're off _fucking_ your wife you think I'll sit around and be a good girl?" She snarls. "That you'll steal me for yourself?"

"You cannot steal what's willingly given. Besides, I think I already have."

I turn, the little devil in my arms as I stride across the dark room until her fine little ass hits the top of the back counter, leaving the perfect amount of room for her to lean back against the wall.

Our mouths meet again, our tongues fighting for dominance, and our gasps filling the air as I push her slim thighs wide apart and slide between them. Her perfect dress bunches up around her waist and I feel the familiar spark as I slide my hands up her smooth legs - higher and higher until she moans as I tease my fingers over the damp fabric that makes up the front of her silk panties.

"My, my. Someone has made a mess of their panties tonight," I growl into her lips.

"I think the Groom had something to do with that," she moans.

"Well then, I think we should clean this perfect little pussy off now, shouldn't we?"

I hook my fingers into the waist of her panties, tugging and slipping them down and off her ass and past her hips. I pull away from her just long enough to slip them off her dainty heel clad feet, and stuff them into the pocket of my tuxedo before shrugging it off and moving back between her thighs.

She lets out a soft gasp as my grind my erection against her little pussy and I can't help but chuckle.

Once again I grasp her hair in my hand, wrapping it around my fist before tugging her head back making her gasp in surprise. My lips find the exposed skin of her neck and she cries out as I sick and nibble at the fair skin, all while using my other hand to slide between her legs to find her dripping wet and ready.

"So fucking wet," I growl into her skin. "First you made a mess in your pretty little panties like a naughty little girl, and now you're letting your pussy make a fucking dripping mess all over my fingers."

She moans, trembling against me as I take two fingers and roll them over her swollen clit.

"Is this from some other man?" I groan, my voice rumbling. "Is it some other man that has this hot little cunt all slick and ready for her Sir?"

She cries out as my fingers slide into her, curling them deep and stroking her at just the right angle against her front wall. The small action makes her rock her hips into me as her hands grasps at the muscle of my forearms.

"No!" She gasps, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure as she shakes her head. "No, it's not."

"Then tell me, Little One," I purr into her left ear. "Tell me what's gotten this pretty little cunt so messy for Sir?"

"You," she chokes out, panting and morning as I continue to slide my fingers in and out of her slick heat.

"Good girl," I praise.

I pull away from her slim neck and she whimpers in protest until I drop to my knees in front of her. I push her legs far apart and gently blow along the skin of her inner thigh, making her drop her mouth open in utter delight.

I tease my lips over her skin, making her entire body shiver in raw pleasure, heat cording through the air and her veins. She loses herself, her head thrown back and her mouth hanging open, panting as I kiss and suck and nibble my way higher and higher over her soft skin. I hadn't even touched her pussy yet and I could feel that she was practically ready to come at my command.

Finally, I focus on my goal.

She melts as I slowly drag my tongue over her pussy lips, teasing her slick slit until I let the tip of my tongue flick across her swollen clit. She jolts, her entire body thrashing like I've hit her with a whip and her hands slide into my hair, tightly gripping it at the roots.

I groan at the small action and slide my tongue back down before repeating the entire motion over and over again, before swirling my tongue over her engorged clit repeatedly until her hips begin to rock against my mouth, trying her damnedest to fuck my tongue.

I groan into her pussy, gently sucking her clit into my mouth as I tease it with my tongue. Alternating between tiny flicks and running the flat edge of my entire tongue over the engorged little bud.

Then, I move lower. I push my tongue inside her slick heat and begin to slide it in and out, fucking her with my mouth.

As pleasure courses through her body, the muscles of her little cunt begin to tighten and clench and her hips begin to rock off the table and against my body.

I move faster, doubling my efforts as I swirl my tongue, teasing her clit again and again until she begins to melt, clutching at my scalp.

She gasps for air and then suddenly she's tumbling towards the edge, faster than I've ever seen before.

"I-Oh fuck, I'm going to . . . I need to . . . Shit, can I-"

"Come for me, Little One," I growl into her pussy. "Let this fucking pretty little pussy come all over my tongue."

Her scream is silent at first as her climax crashes into her and then it is real. She covers her mouth with the crook of her arm as she moans loudly, screaming with pleasure as I continue to use my tongue to drive her over the edge in an explosion. Her slim hips buck and stiffen against me, her entire body trembling and shaking in pure bliss.

Ever so slowly, I pull away and make quick work of ridding myself of my tie and unbuttoning my shirt.

When her hands drift up I momentarily freeze before she gathers herself and places her dainty hands upon my abdominal muscles.

"Is this okay?" She murmurs.

I manage to rasp out a brief, "Yes."

As her fingers dance over my skin she lets out a small gasp and then a little moan.

Grinning inwardly, I pull at my belt and zipper, letting my pants and boxer-briefs slide down over my hips as I press my mouth to the curve of her neck again.

I feel her pulse race under my ministrations as she used her hands to help push down the elastic of my boxers until my cock springs free and into her hands. My heart jumps at the motion, heat coursing through my entire body as her small fingers curl around my thick length.

"Tell me, Little One," I whisper into her pixie-esque ear. "Did you think about this all day?"

"I-"

She blushes, biting down on her plump bottom lip.

"I'm not asking because I'm angry. This isn't about some Groom fucking the bridesmaid fantasy," I growl, using my lips to tease the skin along the base of her neck, causing her to moan softly.

"No, baby. I'm asking because I want you to know how badly I want this. I want you to know that you'll never compare to anyone else I'll ever have and no one that you ever even think of will compare to what I'm about to give to you. Even if this ends, you'll never be able to come without thinking about me with my cock between your legs. The memories alone will erase the thoughts, the feelings of anything that comes after me, Little One," I purr into her skin.

Pushing my hips forward, I let the thick head of my cock slide against her opening.

"There was only ever one that tried," she says quietly.

"Who?" I snarl.

"The boy . . . Leila's boyfriend."

"Well baby, I'm no boy."

"It wasn't my choice."

Her words make me still, and I stare into her steel-blue eyes and see that she's telling me the Gods honest truth.

 _Which_ _means my wife lied right before we said our vows._

"His name."

"No. She'll know, Christian. I can't have her knowing that you don't trust her. It doesn't matter. He wasn't you," she whispers feverishly.

"Damn right, he wasn't me. I don't give a damn that he thought he could taint you. Nothing will ever taint you in my eyes. But, I care about what happens after this. There's only going to be one man touching this delectable little body."

I push my hips forward, and when I begin to stretch her open, my cock sliding into her tight little pussy, she grabs only my forearms and moans in pleasure.

"You're mine now, Little One. Mine and mine alone. No other man is going to feel this tight little cunt take him - no one else is going to taste that sweet pussy between your legs."

I push in another inch, groaning deeply to which she responds with a small gasp just as the heat explodes through me, her pussy gripping my cock like a vice.

"No one else is going to fill this tight little pussy up with every inch of their steel hard cock," I ground out through clenched teeth.

I dive in, and she screams into my chest as I slide every single inch of my thickness deep inside her heat, until my heavy balls rest against her delectable ass.

I hold her tight as her body shakes in pleasure and her fingers dig into my arms, leaving claw marks as she pants against my chest and steadies herself.

"You're mine," I whisper heatedly. "Not just here, not just today or in this moment. You're mine for always."

"All yours," she gasps as I cover her mouth with my own.

Slowly, I slide my cock out, making her whine in protest as her legs wrap around my waist, trying to pull me back into her tempting warmth. I groan, letting my cock tease her as I leave just the swollen head inside.

"No boyfriends. No Doms. No other men," I growl. "You're going to be my submissive. Mine to play with as I please."

"They'll - oh God," she cries out as I continue to drive into her, filling her to the hilt so that her back arches as the heat and pleasure wreaks havoc on her body. "They'll find out and say we can't-"

"Baby," I kiss her slowly. "I'll tear the world apart in order to have you. No one will know that you're mine."

I drive into her again and her hands claw at my skin as I crush my lips to hers. I slide my hands down to her fine ass, grabbing her and possessively pulling her against me as I drive my cock in and out of her tight, slick pussy. I could feel my muscles coil against her, her clit grinding into the base of my cock every time I thrust into her.

I bring a hand up around her back and quickly slide her zipper down her back before reaching back around and pulling the fabric over her shoulders and down her arms, effectively freeing her breasts and binding her arms.

She hugs me close, her legs wrapped around my waist as her pink, achingly beautiful nipples drag across my chest, eliciting a moan from me.

I pick up the pace, my right hand cupping her jaw and my left holding her ass firmly as I drive my thickness in and out of her gushingly eager pussy. I can hear the wet sounds of our bodies coming together again and again, and the feminine sounds of her moans in my ear has me gasping and growling as I stumble towards the edge all over again.

"I know you want to come for me, Little Girl," I breath against her lips. "I know that there is not a single soul alive who can make you this fucking wet. I know that no one can fill you up like my cock can."

She whimpers, panting against him as my filthy words wash over her soul, and I use my thick cock to fuck her tight little pussy with deep, even strokes.

"I know you're dying to again know what it feels like when your Dom makes your little cunt come so good. I know you want to know what it feels like to come with my cock filling you up like you've never been before."

 _Because this time, I had forgotten the condom. I had never in my life forgotten one before. But her pussy is like heroin._

"Oh fuck, I'm . . . I'm . . ." She gasps, my cock driving into her again and again and again and again and again, fucking her as hard and deep as I possibly can, wanting to make her scream as loud as she could in pleasure.

"Come for my cock, Little Girl," I purr. "I want that sweet sweet cream of yours dripping down my balls. I want to feel this pretty little pussy come for me, and then I'm going to empty my balls for you." I breath. "I'm going to give your greedy little pussy every drop of my cum, and when you walk back out there, I want it dripping down your thighs. When you walk back out there, people are going to know that you've been claimed by a man. They're going to know you belong to me.

Elliot or any other man who looks at you and sees the way you walk or sees the glow upon your cheeks and behind your eyes will know that another man has claimed you."

I thrust into her, my thick cock stretching her wide and filling her deep.

"So come for me, beautiful girl," I groan, kissing her hungrily as I feel my muscles clench and my cock swell, her pussy clenching around me.

"Be a good girl for your Sir and come all over my big fat cock," I hiss.

She explodes.

She screams into my mouth as she and I erupt in sync, heat and pleasure crashing over us. She clings to me, her nails leaving marks across my arms as I kiss her fiercely and bury my cock to the hilt inside of her. I feel my cock throb and pulse inside of her warmth, and she moans as my hot thick cum spurts deeply against her womb.

She cries out, kissing me madly as our bodies crash together, both of us coming and panting together. Her pussy throbs around my member as she writhes against me. Slowly, I begin to kiss her, deepening it as we go on and stealing her breath as she pants against my lips.

"All mine," I whisper, feeling my heart soar as she clings to be and mewls softly, kissing me fiercely.

"All yours, Sir," she whispers back, making me grin as I kiss her one last time.

Quickly, I help her straighten up before dressing myself.

"I have to go."

"I know," she murmurs, her eyes doe-like and still hazy with lust.

"I will send Reynolds for emergency contraceptive. And I will e-mail you as soon as I land, Little One."

"You will?"

"Yes," I murmur, running my thumb across her jaw. "And when I get back, we will continue this where we left off. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

She watches me as I adjust my tie and her lips part, "What you said before-"

"What I said before, I meant," I say firmly. "I meant all of it. I will have you as my Submissive. That is, unless you don't think you can handle the pressure."

She snorts, biting her lip and rolling her eyes before reaching up to kiss me again.

 _I never wanted to not be kissing her delectable lips._

"My family - our families-"

"We'll work it out and no one will ever know. That includes Kate and Elliot."

"They'll be suspicious."

"We'll be sneakier. Look at us now."

"Fair point well made, Mr. Grey."

"We should get back out there," I say gently.

"Yeah," She murmurs. "We should."

I watch as she straightens her dress once more and I choose to reach out to pull her cascading curls back over her shoulder.

"Did I tell you just how beautiful you looked this evening?"

"I think you may have mentioned it."

"Well, let me say it again. You look simply beautiful this evening, Little One," I murmur and as if on cue, she blushes. "Now would you prefer to slip away first? Or should I?"

"You go," she urges. "Find Leila and let her toss her bouquet and I guess you get to toss the garter."

"Little One-"

"Don't," she says sharply, holding her hand up. "Don't apologize. I knew what I was getting into when I crawled into your bed, Christian. I can live with it for now."

"I'm going to slip out and I'll see you in a month."

She bites down of her lip and nods in understanding.

Reaching for the door, I glance back and watch her twist her hands together as she looks down at the floor.

I don't offer her anymore words of encouragement, instead I slip out the door and shut it softly behind me. Glancing up and down the hall I find it clear and make my way back to the reception.

I'd have to talk to her in depth when I arrived back to Seattle. She had to know I couldn't offer her hearts and flowers. Hell, I didn't even offer them to Leila. She had been convenient and with Elena's advice in hand, I had chosen to make the Submissive that could keep up with me a permanent fixture in my life.

 _Had I been wrong?_

No, I was a good judge of character. It's how I had become a billionaire at such a young age.

Although, it had come with a price. Things between me and my father were still tense. Even more so when I had announced my engagement. He hadn't taken to Leila. But it seemed he was smitten by her sister.

It seemed as if my little nymphette could charm just about anyone.

"There you are! Ready for the garter toss?" Leila grins, batting her eyes at me.

I nod and watch as a chair is brought to the middle of the dance floor.

Leila sits and I offer her a rare smile before kneeling before her and making my way up her dress. I pull the blue band down her leg and off her _Christian Loubout_ _in_ pointed toe, twirling the fabric around my finger.

Leaning forward she offers me a kiss.

"A girl could get used to this."

I snarl at the innuendo, "Don't even think about it."

She masks her disappointment, but I see the fury within her eyes as I stand. I glance around the room and watch the tangle of men gather around.

With one glance back, I turn and toss it back behind me.

The sound of Elliot cheering makes me turn around and I see him holding the blue garter up in the air as my little nymph steps up beside him with a glass of champagne in hand.

Leila moves to stand beside me and calls out.

"Get ready girls! The one who catches it is getting hitched next!"

She turns and I frown when I notice the brunette morsel stay right at my brothers side, not bothering with the bouquet toss.

"One . . . Two . . . Three!"

The bouquet of red roses flies through the air and I watch in astonishment as it makes a perfect landing right into a champagne flute.

Her plump pink pouting lips drop open as everyone around her cheers and her eyes meet mine for a moment before I hear Leila screech and start to move towards her sister.

"I guess you just had to steal the show somehow."

The blue-eyed angel rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she purses her lips.

"I didn't reach for it, Leigh. It's not like I set out to take it from you or from anyone else."

"Of course not," she scoffs. "Nice dress you're wearing, I suppose."

"Oh, because it's not the fire engine catastrophe that you tried to trick me into wearing tonight?"

"Oh please, I didn't do anything of the sort. I was with you when you bought that thing."

"Exactly. Which is why it was ready when you called in to change the color," she sighs. "You know what? I give up. Have fun on your honeymoon. I'll see you at Christmas."

"What? No Thanksgiving this year?"

"I rather not spend another holiday with you and mom picking on every little thing I do or say. So no. No Thanksgiving. Hell, I might not even come home for Christmas. I'd rather spend it alone in my apartment than anywhere near you."

She turns on her heel and stalks off just as Taylor appears at my side.

"Mr. Grey, the car is ready."

"Good. Gather up the guests so we can head out."

Ten minutes pass by the time we're sliding into our seats in the backseat of the Audi.

I look out the window as the car begins to pull away and notice my nymphette standing at the back of the crowd with her head down.

"That was exhausting," Leila groans. "At least we never have to do that again."

I nod without a word as I pull out my phone to quickly check my days worth of e-mails just as a message pops up on my screen.

I open it when I read the name and smile to myself at the thought of being buried inside of her a mere half hour ago. What I would give to be there again.

My eyes scan the first message when an attachment pops up and my hold world nearly stops.

 _I'm already missing you, Sir. My pussy is drenched in your cum and your Little One simply cannot wait until you're again p_ _umping your thick hot creamy cum into my awaiting pussy once you return home._

 _Yours. X._

Her dress is pushed up around her waist and her pussy is bare except for the fine trimmed hair across her little mound. Her panties are nearly burning a hole in my pocket at the sight. But it's the sight of my cum leaking out of her glistening cunt that nearly sends me over the edge.

Two minutes in and I already couldn't wait to get back from my honeymoon so I could spend the rest of Seattle's hot summer nights buried in my wife's half-sister.

Anastasia Rose Steele was going to be the death of me.

 **A Note from the Author**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **First and foremost, this is my first swim in the world of Fan Fiction meant for the one and only and I hope I've done the FSOG fandom justice. I've been working on it here and there since last July and couldn't bring myself to post. So finally, here it is!**

 **Second, as you can very well see above, both of our Main Characters are slightly OC and will remain so throughout the duration of their love story. But don't worry, I'm strictly about HEA and any Lemons will only feature our favorite two!!**

 **Be on the lookout for the rest of Pretty Big Lies, which is Part I of the Bad Liar Duo.**

 **xoxo, Sara Jo**


	3. Chapter 1

There are those who say, "Blood is thicker than water," and for some those words may be the truth.

However, if you dig deeper you will find that the full quote actually says, "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." It refers to relationships that are forged by choice. The relationships that hold a deeper meaning than pure biology.

Biology is a tricky thing, and so is marriage and divorce.

My mother, the dear Carla May Lambert-Steele-Morton-Williams, would know better than anyone what marriage and divorce bring.

For some, it is heartbreak, chaos, and zero money at the end of the divorce settlement. For others, it is infidelity, greed, and wealth.

Carla has always found a way to achieve the latter.

Perhaps that's where I got it from.

At the delicate age of fifteen, I was introduced to Carla's fourth husband Gregory Williams.

Greg himself, wouldn't have been so bad if you set aside the sordid family history. He was, after all, Carla's brother-in-law.

The long lost ex-lover my mother had left behind when she gave birth to me and Frank died. She had relied on Raymond Steele back then only because the affair was fresh on her sister-in-law's mind and Frank's dear sister Gracie was dutifully raising Greg's lovechild.

So in truth, at the delicate age of fifteen, I was introduced to Carla's fourth husband Gregory Williams and their daughter - Leila.

Ray urged me to stay with Carla, Greg, and my newfound sister - insisting that we would form a bond unlike any other.

Perhaps in hindsight, Ray was right.

Leila and I bonded at our mother's insistence. She insisted that I go to the mall with Leila to spend time with her when I wanted to read books. She insisted that I play the role of the mannequin as Leila experimented with her makeup and hair products because I wasn't girly enough. She insisted I tag along to football games in the fall and Spring Break vacations to Miami because I didn't have enough friends.

I bent to the will of Carla and Leila and in the end, I changed for the worst.

That was one of the many reasons why I was in the position I was in as I was handed my Bachelor's Degree in English Literature from the one and only Christian Grey.

"Congratulations, Miss Steele," he says as he shakes my hand. The moment his eyes lock with mine the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement and he leans in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear, "You look absolutely divine today, Miss Steele."

I smile as he hands me my degree.

"Thank you, Mr Grey," I purr, casting the girls I had been stuck between a look of accomplishment.

Christian Grey may not have been officially mine, but he was mine all the same.

"Did you receive my e-mail?"

"No, I don't believe I did."

He looks quizzically at me.

"Later," he says, and I have to move on because I'm holding up the line and because if I wait any longer, it would only raise suspicion when it came to the intimacy of our relationship.

I find my way back to my seat, following the line, wondering the entire time what e-mail he could have sent that I missed.

Then again, after three years of secrets and lies, I still haven't gotten into the habit of constantly checking my email. Probably because it's one small way I can stick it to the Big Bad Dominant that is Christian Grey.

The ceremony takes another hour to conclude, and the entire process is entirely boring.

Finally, the chancellor leads the faculty members off the stage to yet more applause, preceded by Christian and then Kate. Christian doesn't even spare me a glance, even as I will him to do so.

As I stand, waiting for our row to exit, Kate calls out to me as she heads my way from behind the stage.

"Christian is looking for you," she shouts. The two girls who are now standing beside me turn and gape at me as we stumble our way out of line.

"You're speech was fantastic, Kate," I grin.

"It was, wasn't it?" She beams. "Are you coming? He's being Mr. Control-freak again." She rolls her eyes and I grin.

"He's always that way. Besides that, I'm sure he's not actually looking for me." I glance up at my family and hold up my fingers indicating five minutes.

Greg nods, giving me an okay sign and I follow Kate through the corridor behind the stage. Christian is talking to the chancellor and a few members of the staff until he looks up and sees me.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I hear him murmur before walking towards me and Kate.

Smiling at Kate briefly, he says, "Thank you," before his eyes meet mine in an intense gaze.

"Congratulations, Anastasia," he says smoothly. Leaning in he kisses my cheek, once again brushing his lips against the shell of my ear, "I can't wait to properly celebrate later," before he straightens and fixes the button on the front of his suit.

"Thank you, Christian."

As he opens his mouth to speak he looks up far behind me with a frown etched upon his face before giving me a brief apologetic look.

Leila waltzes past me and into Christian's arms, kissing him soundly for all to see before pulling back and looking up at him adoringly.

"You were amazing up there," she gushes, placing her hand upon his chest briefly, only for him to grip her wrist and move it away as he looks down at her.

"It's not about me, today," he says sternly as we head back towards our family, "Katherine gave her own speech and your own sister just graduated."

"I know that," she says exasperated, rolling her eyes in the process before smiling at me sweetly. "Ana, congratulations."

"Yes, congratulations."

I give my mother a smile before looking back at Christian and Leila.

Christian looks like perfection in his suit with the gray silk tie, and next to him Leila portrays the ideal housewife with her hair up in a perfect bun and scarlet red lipstick to match. It makes me wonder why he bothers with me when he has _her_ standing at his side.

"We're very proud of you, Ana," Greg exclaims, snapping me out of my inner turmoil.

"Yes, of course, we are," my mother grimaces before looking down at her phone, "Darling, we really should be going."

My smile falters as I look between Greg and Carla, "You're not staying?"

"We have plans for an early dinner and a show with friends we don't typically get to see, living in Seattle and all. You understand."

I swallow the acid threatening to crawl up my throat before I glance to the side and see the one person who could make it all better.

"Dad!"

"Annie!" Ray cheers, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly.

"You're here! How? I thought the truck-"

"Christian," he says simply, glancing at him with a grateful smile, "Thank you again."

"Ana!" I turn, and Ethan Kavanagh scoops me into his arms. He twirls me around, before setting me back on my feet.

"Congratulations!" He beams down at me, his green eyes twinkling as he takes two glasses of champagne, or cheap fizzy wine, from Kate and hands one off to me.

It's not chilled, and it tastes sweet. My thoughts drift to Christian only a few feet away . . . _he won't like this at all._

His dirty blond hair is tousled and sexy as per usual. He's as beautiful as Kate and the family resemblance is striking. It's only going to get worse once they're all perfectly tan after their vacation to Barbados.

"Ethan! It's so lovely to see you! Dad, this is Ethan, Kate's older brother. Ethan, this is my dad, Ray Steele." They shake hands, my dad, coolly assessing Ethan as he casually wraps an arm around my waist.

"He's been in Europe," I pause and turn to Ethan, "When did you get back?" I ask.

"I've been back for a week, but I wanted to surprise my little sister," he says conspiratorially.

"That's so sweet." I grin.

"She is valedictorian, couldn't miss that once in a lifetime show," he states, looking immensely proud of his sister.

"She gave a great speech."

"That she did," Ray agrees.

"Hello Ray," Kate says, kissing his cheek before turning to look at Christian, "You've met Ethan, right?"

"Briefly," he says coolly, his frosty gray eyes assessing him, "Mr. Kavanagh, it's good to see you."

"Mr. Grey," Ethan nods, shaking his hand briefly before looking down at me, "Ana Banana, what are your dinner plans?"

"Carla and Greg are leaving and Ray has a fishing trip planned with Mr. Rodriguez so . . . nothing, I suppose."

"You're not celebrating Annie's graduation with her?" Ray asks as he turns toward Carla.

"We have plans. Really, Ana, you don't need to be so spoiled all the time."

Ethan frowns as he looks down at me, "You should celebrate with us then. Like good old times," he grins affectionately.

"Ana," Christian murmurs, beckoning me over.

I walk out of Ethan's grasp while Christian smiles at him, and I take my place at his side.

"My family is here. We'll celebrate together."

"Ethan, Mom, and Dad wanted a word. We'll see you later Ana," she smiles.

"Annie, I can stay-"

"No dad, don't miss out on your fishing trip. Besides, Mr. Rodriguez is counting on you. I'm just happy you could make the drive before your trip, " I say, offering him a sincere smile.

He lets out an elongated sigh before casting a look at Christian.

"That was a fine speech you gave, thank you for keeping an eye on Annie."

"Thank you, sir. It's been my pleasure. We'll have to take that fishing trip sometime soon. It's the perfect time to take _The Grace_ out on the water."

Ray raises his eyebrows and smiles—a rare, genuine Ray Steele smile—and off they go, talking fish and camping trips. They are so in depth, I soon feel inadequate and move onto Carla and Greg who are making small talk with Christian's parents.

Grace and Carrick greet me warmly, exchanging brief pleasantries, mostly about our move.

"Carla, I assume you and Greg are taking Ana out to dinner," Grace comments.

"We would, but we have a previous engagement," Carla answers sweetly.

I scowl at the sight of her overly-sweet-going-to-rot-your-teeth smile.

 _Som_ _ething more important than your flesh and blood?_

"Actually, Christian offered to let me tag along to dinner," I glance up, and both Ray and Christian are looking at me. "He even surprised me with Ray."

"You're family, darling girl," Carrick says sweetly.

"I'd better go rescue Ray, or perhaps Christian. I'll see you later, Carla," I glare at her.

"Goodbye," she calls after me.

"Hi." I smile at both of them on my return.

They seem okay given the circumstances. Christian is enjoying some private joke, and my dad looks unbelievably relaxed given he's in a social situation. _What have they been discussing apart from fish? Especially because whatever it is has left a sour look upon Leila's face._

"Ana, I'm going to head out if that's okay?"

"That's perfectly okay, dad. Thank you so much for delaying your trip and making it here."

"I'll always make time for you, sweet pea. You kids enjoy yourselves."

Ray heads out and I glance nervously up at Christian before a photographer stops to take a picture of both Christian and Leila. That is, until Christian grips my elbow and pulls me into the shot.

"Mr. and Mrs. Grey, who is your guest?"

"We're her guest tonight," Christian says simply as his thumb grazes the base of my spine, "My sister-in-law, Anastasia Steele is a graduate."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey." The photographer scurries off as I blink from the flash.

"So you've charmed my father as well?"

"As well?" Christian's eyes burn and he raises a questioning eyebrow and I can't help but flush.

"You know what you're doing."

Leila rolls her eyes as she leans into Christian, "He's a business mogul. It comes naturally to him."

"Leila," Christian says swiftly, "Will you fetch my parents so we can head out to dinner?"

"Of course," she smiles sweetly at him before casting me a look of disdain as she walks off into the crowd.

"Oh, I wish I knew what you were thinking, Anastasia," he whispers darkly, grasping my hand in his as we gaze intently into each other's eyes.

My breath hitches as I lick my lips.

"Right now, I'm thinking, Nice tie," I breathe, staring at the gray silk that most recently had been used to bind my wrists together on the floor of his office at _GEH_.

He chuckles. "It's recently become my favorite."

I blush scarlet as he takes a step towards me, using his hand to grip my waist, grazing my back again.

"You look lovely, Anastasia. This silver halter dress suits you, and I get to stroke your back, feel your beautiful skin," he croons. "Of course, that Kavanagh fucker got that chance too, didn't he?"

Suddenly, it's like we're on our own in the room filled with hundreds. My whole body has come alive, every nerve ending is on fire, that electricity pulling me to him, charging between us.

"It's silver-gray," I grin. "But honestly, Christian. What was I supposed to do? Push him away? It's not like you can stake your claim."

His eyes darken into a gray storm as he stares down at me.

"You know I would if it was possible."

"Can you stay?" I ask quietly, "Come up with some excuse about the staff or-

"I can't. I promised Leila it would be about family tonight. If I do that-"

"I get it," I say stiffly.

"This week, you should come stay. We can invite Elliot over and if you get there early we can have lunch." At my look of apprehension, he leans in close. "You know it's going to be good, don't you, baby?" he whispers.

I close my eyes as my insides melt.

"But I want more," I whisper.

"More?" he looks down at me puzzled, his eyes darkening.

I nod and swallow. He knows what I really want. It's a topic that we argue over constantly.

"More," he says again softly. Testing the word—a small, simple word, that is so full of promise after oh, so long. His thumb traces the base of my spine once more. "You want hearts and flowers."

I nod again as he blinks down at me, and I watch his internal struggle play out in his eyes.

"Anastasia." His voice is soft. "It's not something I can do right now."

"Me, either."

He smiles slightly.

"You're trouble you know that?"

"Yes, Sir. However, so are you."

"Try it," he whispers, "Try to be patient until you're securely in Seattle and we'll figure this all out."

Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, I follow him willingly without much thought. It's something I've found myself doing more and more often. I bend to his will like the Submissive he wants me to become.

"Okay," I whisper.

"What?" he asks, looking at me stupefied.

"Okay, I'll try to be patient."

"You're agreeing?"

His disbelief is evident.

"Subject to at least one visit between then and now, yes. I'll try." My voice is soft as I stare up at him.

Christian closes his eyes in response and bites his lip as his hands fall to his sides, clenched together tight, rather than pulling me into his embrace.

"Jesus, Ana, you're so unexpected. I promise you, one visit."

He steps back, and suddenly Leila has returned with his family in tow, and the volume in the marquee gradually rises and fills my ears.

 _We're not alone. We never are._ _We never truly have been, even when we've been buried in the warm duvet across his bed . . ._

 _Holy shit, I've just agreed to continue whatever has been going on for the past three years._

Christian smiles at his parents as his eyes light up with joy.

"Ana, darling should we get some dinner?" Carrick asks.

"Okay." I blink up at Carrick, trying to find my equilibrium.

 _What have I done?_

"Would you like to join us on the car ride there, or will you be heading out with Christian and Leila?" Grace asks.

 _C_ _hristian?_

I stare up at him, and then at Leila, imploring them to refuse.

"Thank you, mother, father. If you could take Ana it would be appreciated. I just learned about a business trip and I'd like to discuss it with Leila on the way to the restaurant. We'll meet you there?" Christian says suavely.

"Of course," Carrick responds. "We'll get Ana there in one piece."

"Oh, I'm sure."

They pat each other on the back before Christian wraps his arm around Leila's waist, making me feel sick. Christian has no idea how Carrick really looks after me. Carrick has a way of knowing what no one else knows.

"We'll see you there, Anastasia," Christian breathes, his voice full of promise.

My stomach swirls at the thought.

Carrick takes my elbow and leads me toward the entrance to the tent as Grace chatters on about how lovely it was to see Leila and me together because it's just been so long.

"Leila is such a solid young woman. We're so lucky that Christian found her, don't you think so Carry? The volunteer work she's doing for Coping Together is just outstanding. You should join her one day, Ana. Though I assume you'll be looking for work?"

I shrug noncommittally.

"I'm looking into a few publishing houses."

"Let the girl be, you know Ana fully intends to work for a living. I know Leila has an income through her art, but really Gracie, they're complete opposites."

I smile at Carrick as Grace lets out a deeply embedded sigh.

"Oh you're right, I'm sorry Ana. I suppose I just worry about you like I worry about my own children. Especially after watching you with Carla. How she can just leave on a day like to day just astounds me."

"It's all part of Carla's charm. You get used to it after so long."

The fact that Grace and Carrick even notice how odd my mother is, astounds me. Christian didn't know just how good he had it.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Grace and Carrick drop me off at the house close to dusk.

"Call us when you get to Seattle and we'll do lunch," Carrick says.

"I will. Thank you both so much for coming today."

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world, darling girl," Carrick says.

"You made us both so proud," Grace says wistfully.

A huge lump forms in my throat, and I hug them both, hard. They both put their arms around me, bemused, and I can't help it—tears pool in my eyes.

"Oh, Ana, darling," Carrick croons. "You are a part of our family. We love you like our very own. What about a cup of tea?"

I laugh, in spite of my tears. Tea is always the answer, according to Ray, and it was charming that Carrick had remembered that. Though it briefly reminds me of my mother complaining about him, saying that when it came to tea and sympathy, he was always good at the tea, not so hot on the sympathy.

"No, Carrick, I'm good. It's been so great to see both of you. I'll visit as soon as I'm settled in Seattle."

"Good luck with the interviews. Let us know how they go."

"I will, Carrick."

"Love you, Ana," Grace says.

"Love you both, too."

They both smile, their eyes warm, glowing, and they climb back into their car. I wave them off as they drive into the dusk, and I wander listlessly back into the apartment.

The first thing I do is check my phone after ignoring it since before the ceremony. Finding that it's dead, I hunt down the charger and plug it, waiting for it to come back to life so I can check my messages. Four missed calls, one voice mail, and two texts. Three missed calls from Christian . . . no messages. One missed call from José and a voice mail from him wishing me all the best for graduation.

I open the texts first.

 _Are you home safe?_

 _Please_ _let me know._

They are both from Christian. _Why did he call when he never calls?_

Rather than suffer the wrath that is the Blackberry, I head into my bedroom and fire up my laptop. Sifting through my emails I find one from the night before.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tonight

Date: May 25 2011 23:58

To: Anastasia Steele

I hope you made it home.

Let me know if you're okay.

Christian Grey

CEO, _Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

 _Fucking hell . . . why is he so worried about my safety all of the sudden? I drove myself home for heaven's sake! It's not like my beloved Wanda is in that bad of shape._

Christian's next e-mail is from today.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Soft Limits

Date: May 26 2011 17:22

To: Anastasia Steele

What can I say that I haven't already?

You looked beautiful today.

Christian Grey

CEO, _Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

 _I want to see him. I need to see him. Today simply wasn't enough._

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: One Limit

Date: May 26 2011 19:23

To: Christian Grey

I want to see you. Are you still in Portland?

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Soft Limits

Date: May 26 2011 19:27

To: Anastasia Steele

I'll come to you. I meant it when I said I wasn't happy about you driving that car.

I'll be with you shortly.

Christian Grey

CEO _, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

 _He's coming over now? I wonder what happened to Leila?_

There is only one thing I have to get ready for him—the first edition Thomas Hardy books are still on the bookshelf in the living room. I cannot and will not keep them. I wrap them in brown paper, and I scrawl on the wrapping a direct quote from Tess from the book:

 _"I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don't make it more than I can bear!"_

If he wanted me to agree to continue the game, I could play along.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **Sadly, no Lemons were to be had this time around. It's also about half the length because the first chapter was technically an introduction. However, don't expect future chapters to be any shorter than 4K and due to how I tend to write you may even get a few that exceed 10k.**

 **You may have noticed a few lines from the original Fifty Shades Of Grey. Some lines will also be used in the next chapter to stay true to the form of the story. Like that oh-so-exclusive contract. As always, credit goes to the one and only E.L James. We wouldn't be here without her.**

 **On another note, several have asked if this is just two parts or two stories. To be clear this is the _first_ book in a two part _series_. I'm guesstimating somewhere between 20-25 chapters for each book. **

**Last but not least, thank you all for the encouragement. Whether it's through favorites, follows or the sweet reviews and messages. I'll try to start replying to a few reviewers at the end of each chapter starting . . . now!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**

 **daytonalay:** no, thank you! I think just about everyone hates Leila to some degree. And my Leila is definitely one to watch out for!

 **zeeulove:** I can't either. I'm still not 100% on the ending. But rest assured, always a HEA over here! :)

 **pepe71:** hope it lived up to expectations!

 **emi17:** Dear old Christian has a heart of gold buried beneath those layers. But does he or has he ever truly felt a thing for Leila? Only time will tell! But you've got that right. Leila is just about as vindictive as they come. Unfortunately, she's not the only one.

 **LOVE (Guest):** Ah thank you! It's been a long process. Ana is definitely alone and there's just no telling if it's going to get better or worse. ;) As for how long this is going to be . . . This book is part of a two book series. Each book will range from 20-25 chapters. Hope that answers your questions! :)

 **Kira (Guest)** : thank you very much! To answer your questions, Anas intentions are a bit mixed at the moment. Christian does indeed share the same past with Elena. BDSM definitely plays a role. CG wouldn't be the big bad Dom we all know and love without it. :)


	4. Chapter 2

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"Hi." I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Christian is standing on the porch in his dark wash jeans, plain white t-shirt, and leather jacket.

"Hi," he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile.

I take a moment to admire just how handsome he really is. His copper hair is tousled and the tip of one curl is hanging in the middle of his forehead. As if noticing the way I'm studying him, he runs his free hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face, and I watch as the arm of his jacket tightens around his bicep.

 _The man belongs in leather._

"May I come in?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me as he enquires.

"Oh! Yes! Come in."

"If I may," he says, amused at my abnormally flustered state. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. "I thought we'd celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger."

"Interesting choice of words," I comment dryly.

He grins. "Oh, I adore your wit, Anastasia."

"Will teacups do? We've packed all the glasses."

"Teacups? Sounds good to me," he chuckles. The sound rumbles deep within his chest and my insides practically turn to mush at the sound.

I head into the kitchen to retrieve the cups, nervous butterflies flooding my stomach. Having him so close is like having a panther all unpredictable and predatory in my living room with me as the prey.

 _Why was it, that after so long, this man could still make me as giddy as a school girl? Why couldn't I be the girl in control like I had been the very first time I seduced him?_

"Do you want saucers as well?" I ask teasingly.

"Teacups will be fine, Anastasia," Christian calls distractedly from the living room.

When I return, he's staring at the pile of books I have wrapped up for him.

"That's for you," I murmur anxiously as I place the cups on the table.

"Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote." His long perfectly manicured index finger absently traces the writing. "I thought I was d'Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement." He gives me a brief wolfish smile. "Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately."

"It's also a plea," I whisper, my voice dry.

"A plea? For me to go easy on you?"

I nod.

"I bought these for you," he says quietly, his gaze impassive. "I'll go easier on you if you accept them."

"Christian, I can't accept them, they're just too much."

"You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me at every turn. I want you to have them, and that's the end of the discussion. It's very simple. You don't have to think about this. As a submissive, you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so."

"You see that's the difference. I wasn't a submissive when you bought them for me," I whisper, "And I'm not your submissive now. I'm your mistress."

His eyes turn wary as he studies me. "No . . . don't call yourself that, Anastasia."

"It's what I am, isn't it? I'm sleeping with my sister's husband. It hasn't happened once or twice, Christian. It's an ongoing affair." I sigh as I take in his expression.

This wasn't a fight I wanted to have. Not when I actually had him to myself.

"So they are mine to do with as I wish?"

He eyes me suspiciously but concedes.

"Yes."

"Do they honestly mean that much to you?"

"Yes." His mouth is set into a hard line as he stares at me impassively.

I flush under his stare and begin to remember the way his mouth felt upon my skin that very first time.

"I'll keep them," I murmur. I don't want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. _I want you to want to please me._

"Don't think, Anastasia. Not about this." His tone is quiet and serious.

The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don't know what to do as I stare down at my fingers. Un-manicured simply because as horrible as I was, I couldn't bring myself to spend on the small luxuries. And I hated taking things from Christian. It made me out to be the whore I really was.

He sets the champagne bottle on the table and stands in front of me. Putting his hand under my chin, he tilts my head up. He gazes down at me, his expression grave.

"I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I'm a very wealthy man." He leans down and plants a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. "Please." He releases me.

 _It made me feel like a prostitute._

"It makes me feel cheap," I murmur.

Christian runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.

"It shouldn't. You're overthinking it, Anastasia. Don't place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don't waste your energy on something so trivial. Especially when no one actually knows what's going on. It's useless to sit around and worry. Having a few reservations about our relationship is perfectly natural, but it's just us Little One. You know what you're getting into."

I frown, trying to process his words.

"Hey, stop this," he commands softly, cupping my chin again and pulling at it gently so I release my lower lip from my teeth. "There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won't have you thinking that. I simply bought you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that's all. Have some champagne."

His eyes are warm and soft, as I smile tentatively up at him. "That's better," he murmurs. He picks up the champagne, takes off the foil top and cage, twists the bottle rather than the cork, and opens it with a small pop and a practiced flourish that doesn't spill a drop. He half fills the cups.

"It's pink," I murmur, surprised.

"Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage," he says with relish.

"In teacups."

He grins, "In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia."

We clink cups, and he takes a drink, but I can't help thinking this is really about my up and coming move.

"Thank you," I murmur, and take a sip. Of course, it's delicious. "Shall we talk about our schedule this summer?"

He smiles, and I blush.

"Always so eager." Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch, where he sits and tugs me down beside him.

"Ray seemed to be in a good mood this afternoon."

 _Oh . . . not our summer plans then._ I just want to get this out of the way. Not only is the anxiety gnawing at me, but the guilt is too.

It seems I've grown a conscious.

"Leila seemed to be in a good mood. At least until we went to dinner."

Christian laughs harshly.

"Let's just say she wasn't pleased when I told her I wouldn't be spending time with her tonight."

"Where is she?" I ask curiously.

"She was supposed to stay at the Heathman where I would have returned, but instead, she decided to return to Seattle with her security. As you noticed, she's refusing to speak to me because I had drinks with the chancellor after dinner," he says as he slips his arms around my waist, pulling me up against him.

"Drinks with the chancellor must have been quick then. You could have just gone back with her. Why did you choose to stay?"

"Anastasia," he murmurs softly, "There was never a meeting with the chancellor. I stayed here for you. I thought I would only be able to give you an hour or two, but now it seems I have the whole night."

"Because of what I said at the ceremony?" I take another sip.

The man has a memory for detail.

Christian makes a face.

"Yes. It's not fair that I would have been off with Leila and not here with you."

"You're her husband, it's to be expected, Christian. Besides, I thought you didn't do hearts and flowers. How did you become so knowledgeable about what I might expect?"

"I'm not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like." His eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. "Some more?" he asks, referring to the champagne.

"Please."

Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup but neglects to refill his own. I eye him over the rim of my teacup, wondering if he's purposely getting me tipsy.

"This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?"

"More or less."

"Are you working tomorrow?"

"Yes, my last day at Clayton's."

Finally, after four long years of hard work, I was leaving Clayton's and school behind.

"I'd help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport."

"Your father mentioned that."

"Mia arrives from Paris very early Saturday morning. I'm heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand."

"Yes, Kate has been talking about it all week."

Christian frowns. "Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?" he murmurs, and for some reason, he doesn't look pleased by the prospect. "So what are you doing about work in Seattle once everything is settled?"

 _When are we going to talk about us? What's his game?_

"I have a couple of interviews for intern positions."

"You were going tell me this when?" He arches a brow as he clasps his hands together and leans forward.

"Er . . . I'm telling you now."

He narrows his eyes.

"Where exactly are you looking?"

Knowing Christian the way I do, possibly because of who he is and how easily he can influence those around him, I don't want to tell him my plans.

"A couple of publishing houses," I say evasively.

"Is that really what you want to do, something in publishing? You're positive?"

I nod warily, "Yes, why?"

"I'm just thinking about how brilliant you would be at GEH."

"And work directly under your thumb? No thank you."

He smiles ruefully. "Well?" He looks at me patiently wanting more information.

"Well, what?"

"Don't be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?" he scolds.

"Just small ones," I murmur.

"Why don't you want me to know?"

"Because I know you, Christian. You want what's best for the people in your life. You have undue influence in the world and I don't want it consuming my future work." He frowns at my comment and I can't help but roll my eyes at him, "Oh, now you're being obtuse."

He laughs. "Obtuse? Me? God, you're challenging. Drink up, let's talk about these limits."

He fishes out another copy of my email and the list. The list I thought we might just glide over now that I'm feeling tipsy.

 _Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there's one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I'd better not forget that or Kate will kill me on moving day._ I drain my cup.

He glances quickly at me.

"More?"

"Please."

He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his then holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.

"You didn't eat much during dinner."

"Christian!" I scold exasperatedly, "I had a three-course meal with _you_. Not to mention your _entire_ family."

I roll my eyes at him.

The champagne is already getting to my head, which from the glint in his eyes, is exactly what he set out to do.

 _Bastard_.

He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.

"Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee."

 _What? That little threat again? Is that the second time this week or just today?_

"Oh," I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.

"Oh," he responds, mirroring my tone. "So it begins, Anastasia."

My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat.

He fills my cup once again, and I down it quickly, before looking up at him feeling chastened.

"Got your attention now, haven't I?"

I nod in response.

"Answer me."

"You always do," I say softly, "Sir."

Looking extremely pleased by my sudden obedience he smiles, "Good. Now, let's discuss our future. Sexual acts. We've done most of these, one in particular I'm looking forward to though."

APPENDIX 3

Soft Limits

To be discussed and agreed between both parties:

Does the Submissive consent to:

• Masturbation

• Cunnilingus

• Fellatio

• Swallowing Semen

• Vaginal intercourse

• Vaginal fisting

• Anal intercourse

• Anal fisting

"No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?" he asks softly. I swallow.

"I mean, I know we've um . . . played but well . . ."

"What is it, Anastasia?"

"Well, it's just that anal intercourse doesn't exactly float my boat."

"I'll agree to the fisting, but I'd really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we'll wait for that. It's not something we can dive into. Hence why we've never had enough time." He smirks at me. "Your ass still needs training."

"More?" I whisper.

"Oh yes. It can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don't like it, we don't have to do it again." He grins down at me, "Although, I'm positive you'll be begging for more once I've claimed you."

I blink up at him. After two years he still thinks I'll enjoy it?

"How can you really know?"

"Anastasia," he raises his brow expectantly.

"Mrs. Robinson?"

"I really wish you wouldn't call her that."

"I can't help it. She's a monster."

"Ana!" he growls.

"Sorry, go on."

"Swallowing semen, well . . . you get an A in that considering that was established that first night . . ." I flush at the memory, licking my lips in anticipation of tonight. "So," he looks down at me, grinning as he takes me in, "Swallowing semen, okay?"

"Yes, Sir," I nod and drain my cup again.

"More?" he asks.

"More," and suddenly I'm reminded of our heated discussion after my graduation ceremony. _Is that what this is? Did he cave in that easily to my wishes?_

"Sex toys?" he asks.

"I've liked what we've used over the years," I shrug, glancing down the list.

Does the Submissive consent to the use of:

• Vibrators

• Butt plugs

• Dildos

• Other vaginal/anal toys

"What does other entail if you've already listed butt plugs and vibrators?" I scrunch my nose up in distaste.

"Beads, eggs ... that sort of stuff."

"Eggs?" I'm alarmed.

"Not real eggs." He laughs loudly, shaking his head.

I purse my lips at him, remembering the objects from a brief internet search in the beginning.

"I'm glad you find me funny." I can't keep the hurt out of my voice as I look at him.

He stops laughing almost immediately, frowning. "I apologize. Miss Steele, I'm sorry," he says, trying to look contrite, but his eyes are still dancing with humor. "Any problem with toys?"

"No," I snap.

"Anastasia," he says gently. "I am sorry. Believe me. I don't mean to laugh. I've never had this conversation in so much detail. I forget that even after three years time, you're still just so inexperienced. I'm sorry." His eyes are wide and gray and full of sincerity.

I thaw a little and take another sip of champagne.

"Right—bondage," he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and I can't help but bounce up and down a little in my spot on the couch.

Does the Submissive consent to:

• Bondage with rope

• Bondage with leather cuffs

• Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles

• Bondage with tape

• Bondage with other

Christian raises his eyebrow. "Well?"

"Fine," I whisper and quickly look back at the list so I don't think about the familiar gray tie hanging from his neck earlier in the evening.

Does the Submissive consent to be restrained with:

• Hands bound in front

• Ankles bound

• Elbows bound

• Hands bound behind back

• Knees bound

• Wrists bound to ankles

• Binding with spreader bar

• Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.

• Suspension

Does the Submissive consent to being blindfolded?

Does the Submissive consent to being gagged?

"We've talked a little about Suspension. And it's fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods of time anyway. Anything else?"

"Don't laugh at me, but what's a spreader bar? You've never mentioned them before."

"I promise not to laugh. I've apologized twice." He glares at me. "Don't make me do it again," he warns. Feeling properly chastised I frown. "A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists."

"Oh! That thing we used on New Years?"

"Yes," he grins salaciously. "That night was quite pleasing."

"Okay, that I can agree to. But, well, gagging me . . . It's not something we've done and I'd be worried I wouldn't be able to breathe."

"I'd be worried if you couldn't breathe. I don't want to suffocate you."

"And how will I use safewords if I'm gagged?"

He pauses.

"First of all, I hope you never have to use them. We've come this far without a problem. But if you're gagged, we'll use hand signals," he says simply.

I blink up at him and pout, "I'm nervous about the gagging."

"Okay. I'll take note. It's not much use anyway. I happen to like when you make lots of noise. That's one of the perks of having an office that is soundproof."

I stare up at him and blush, "I happen to like it a lot too."

"Would you like another drink? It's making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about the pain aspect of our arrangement."

 _Holy shit._ He refills my teacup, and I take a sip.

"So, what's your general attitude to receiving pain?" Christian looks expectantly at me. "You're biting your lip," he says darkly.

I stop immediately, but my words fail me as I flush and stare down at my hands.

"Were you physically punished as a child?"

"No."

"So you have no sphere of reference at all?"

"No," I frown.

"It's not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this," he whispers.

"But up until now, it's been all about pleasure. I don't understand why you're pushing for pain when it's been the complete opposite. Do you have to do it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It's what I do . . . it's what I did. I know you're nervous so let's go through methods."

He shows me the list with a glint in his eyes.

• Spanking

• Whipping

• Biting

• Genital clamps

• Hot wax

• Paddling

• Caning

• Nipple clamps

• Ice

• Other types/methods of pain

"Well, you said no to genital clamps a long time ago. That's fine. It's caning that hurts the most." I blanch and feel my heart nearly stop as he says, "We can work up to that."

"Or not do it at all," I whisper.

Something in my voice tips Christian off as he looks over at me curiously before saying, "This is part of the deal, baby, but we'll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won't push you too far."

"This punishment thing, it worries me the most," I say quietly.

"Anastasia, you've said Ray and Carla never punished you. What is it that has you so hesitant to experience the punishment?"

"Ray and Carla didn't," I say simply.

Christian's eyes soften in understanding, "Number three?" At my silence he sighs, "Well, I'm glad you've told me the truth this time. We'll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we'll increase intensity. We'll take it slow."

I bite down on my lip nervously, pulling it between my teeth, gnawing on the sensitive skin.

"I have a solution to the gagging."

He stares at me quizzically and brushes his thumb across his lips.

"I'm listening."

"I don't like the idea of gagging. But there is something similar that I would be interested in trying if you're okay with it."

"And what would that be, Little One?"

"Breath play."

"Ana . . ." He trails off warily.

"I know! I know it's risky and I know that it's on your list of Hard Limits. But I want to find a middle ground."

"I won't participate in breath play."

"Then I want caning on my list of Hard Limits."

"What?!" He blanches.

"Please, Christian."

"No."

"At least give me a reason as to why, then."

I watch as he runs both hands through his copper locks and lets out a deeply aggravated sigh.

"It was used against me when I first began to sub for Elena," he begins as he stares at an empty wall. "It's not something you can just stroll into, Ana. It takes time and a lot of concentration. It's also not something I'm comfortable with due to my early childhood. The nightmares . . ."

"I'm sorry I brought it up. Never mind."

He turns his head and looks at me almost as if he's really seeing me for the first time.

"Breath play is extremely dangerous Ana. It takes practice and time. The risks involved . . . I could never risk hurting you like that. You're far too precious to me, Little One."

"Isn't gagging technically a form of Breath play?"

"Technically speaking, yes. It's on the light end. However, I typically only use ball gags. That's very different than what you're asking of me."

"You haven't even asked me what I'm really asking for."

Looking as if he's quickly losing his patience, he sighs.

"Then what is it you're asking for?"

"Light choking. I'm not asking for you to make me lose consciousness. I just want your hand around my throat. You've kind of done it before and-"

"Excuse me," he cuts me off. "Exactly _when_ have I done that to you?"

"I said kind of," I murmur softly.

"Anastasia," he snaps sternly.

"Okay, okay," I sigh. "The night of your wedding, in the coat closet?"

He closes his eyes and nods.

"Go on," he says hoarsely.

"I was close and you gripped my jaw. You were talking." I lick my dry lips in apprehension and shift in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, "And the more you got into it the further your hand went. It drifted down my throat and you tightened your grip. It was . . ."

Christians hand cups my jaw and he trails his thumb over my bottom lip.

"Breathe, baby," he chides gently. "You're flushed. I can see what it does to you. Is that why you came for me so hard that night?"

"It was a combination of everything, Christian. The taboo, the risk, the sex, you yourself . . ." I pause and take a deep breath. "Your words that night. It hadn't been like that before and when I realized we were without protection I just . . ."

He closes his eyes and practically hums at the mere mention of the risk we took that evening.

"It was good," he agrees as he opens his eyes, the color dark as granite. "I never realized I let my hand drift down your delicate throat."

He trails his hand down from my jaw and gently closes his hand around my neck.

"This?" I shake my head and he presses down, "What about this?" When I shake my head again he presses down more forcefully and a moan escapes my mouth. "Like this? You like that?" He goads.

"Yes, Sir."

He releases my throat and I gasp, feeling the delicious throb between my thighs. The feeling only Christian can elicit from me.

"I'll add it in. But only that far. I won't go further."

"Okay."

"But I'd still like to work towards caning. It's years down the road, baby. But Little One, you have to know I would never push you past your limits. I only want to take you to the heights of pleasure."

"I know," I swallow, and he leans forward and kisses me on my lips.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it Little One?"

I shrug, feeling as if my heart is in mouth again.

"Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I'm taking you to bed."

"Bed?" I blink rapidly, as my blood pounds through my body, warming places I once didn't know existed until Christian touched me. Or I touched him. I suppose it all depends on how you look at the scenario.

"Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. I know for a fact that it's having at least some effect on you, too." I squirm in response, earning one of his rare charming smiles as the dampness in my panties spreads. "See? Besides, there's something I want to try."

"Something painful?"

"Stop seeing pain everywhere. It's mainly all about pleasure. Have I ever hurt you?"

I flush in embarrassment, "No."

"Well, then," he says pointedly, "Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more," he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.

 _Oh, no._

He clasps my hand.

"Outside of the time you're acting as my sub, perhaps we could try a little something more."

"That's awfully difficult considering you're married to my sister, Christian."

"I don't know if it will work. I don't know about separating everything. It may not work. But I'm willing to try. There is an apartment available three floors below mine. I know you agreed to move in with Katherine, but I was thinking that perhaps you could move into my building instead."

My mouth drops open in shock. _More? It can't possibly work_

"Christian, as much as I would love to live only a few floors away from you, it's too huge of a risk. Not to mention I've made a commitment to Kate. Plus to be so close to you _and_ Leila . . . The idea actually terrifies me, Christian. As much as I want to say yes, I can't."

"Then I have just one condition." He looks warily at my stunned expression.

"What?" I breathe.

"You graciously accept my graduation present to you."

"Oh? And that graduation present wouldn't happen to be a car, would it?" I ask cheekily as dread spawns in my gut.

He's staring down at me, gauging my reaction.

"Come," he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.

Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.

"It's for you. Happy graduation," he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.

He's bought me a damned car, brand-new by the looks of it. _Fuck . . . I've had enough trouble with the books_. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this. I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he's actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I'm angry, especially after everything I told him about the books . . . but then he'd already bought this.

Taking my hand, he leads me down the path toward this new acquisition.

"Anastasia, that Beetle of yours is old and frankly dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it's so easy for me to make it right . . ."

His eyes are on me, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to look at him. I stand silently staring at its awesome bright red newness.

"I mentioned it to Ray. He was all for it," he murmurs.

Turning, I glare at him, my mouth open in horror.

"You mentioned this to Ray? How could you?" I can barely spit the words out. "Ray worked for that car!"

"It's a gift, Anastasia. Can't you just say thank you?"

"But you know it's too much and what about Wanda?"

"Not to me, it isn't, not for my peace of mind. As for Wanda, I'll have her taken care of," he says kindly. "Taylor will make sure she's shipped and stored after being cared for properly."

I frown at him, at a loss what to say. He's had money all of his life. Okay, not all of his life— _not as a small child_ —and my worldview shifts. The thought is very sobering, and I soften toward the car, feeling guilty about my childish tantrum. His intentions are good, misguided, but not from a bad place. The man truly has a heart of gold.

"I suppose if I accept your gift I rather just sell Wanda. She won't do any good sitting around. Besides that, I'm going to have to start paying off student loans since Carla is of no help."

He sighs heavily, "Okay. I'll have Taylor find a buyer." He looks warily at me.

"Thank you."

He frowns and I reach up, on the tips of my toes and kiss him on his cheek.

"Thank you for the car, Sir," I say as sweetly as I can manage.

He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand on my back holding me to him and the other fisting my mahogany tresses.

"You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele." Then his lips are on mine as he begins to kiss me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.

My blood heats immediately, and I'm returning his kiss with just as much passion. I want him badly—in spite of the car, the books, the soft limits, the caning, . . . _And Leila_. . . I want him.

"It's taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine and that if I want to buy you a fucking car, I'll buy you a fucking car," he growls. "Now let's get you inside and naked Little One." He plants a swift rough kiss on my lips before he pulls back to look at me with his storm gray eyes.

He's angry and in return undeniably _hot_.

He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind us before he leads me straight into my bedroom where he switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.

"Please don't be angry with me," I whisper. His gaze is impassive as he looks down at me, his eyes cold shards of smoky glass. "I'm sorry about the car and the books and the apartment . . ." I trail off. He remains silent and brooding. "You scare me when you're angry," I breathe, staring at him.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, his expression has softened. He takes a deep breath and swallows.

"Turn around," he whispers. "I want to get you out of that dress."

 _Another mood swing. Sometimes it's so hard to keep up._

Obediently, I turn, my heart beating erratically, desire instantly replacing any unease, coursing through my blood and settling low in my stomach.

First, he scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. Then, he places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.

"I like this dress," he murmurs. "I like to see your flawless skin."

His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and then he hooks his finger beneath the top before he pulls me closer so that I step back against him so that he's flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.

"You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet." His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, feather light kisses along my shoulder.

My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, and full of expectation. His fingers at my zipper once again. Achingly slow, he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm with excitement beneath his touch.

"You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still," he whispers, kissing me around the nape of my neck between each word. He then tugs at the fastening at the halter neck and the dress drops and pools at my feet.

"No bra, Miss Steele. I like that."

His hands reach around and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.

"Lift your arms and put them around my head," he murmurs against my neck.

I obey immediately, and my breasts rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, copper hair. I roll my head to one side to give him easier access to my neck.

"Mmm . . ." he murmurs into that space behind my ear as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.

I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.

"Shall I make you come this way again?" he whispers. I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands, silently asking for more. "You like this, don't you, Miss Steele?"

"Mmm . . ."

"Tell me." He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.

"Yes."

"Yes, what."

"Yes . . . Sir."

"Good girl." He pinches my nipples hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.

I gasp at the exquisite, acute mixture of pleasure and pain. Feeling him against me, I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.

"I don't think you're ready to come yet," he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. "Besides, you have displeased me."

I barely register his words through the fog of needy desire as I groan.

"So perhaps I won't let you come after all." He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against his pant covered erection . . . moving side to side.

I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see . . . _holy shit._ His hands move down to my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.

"Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready," he breathes as he whirls me around so I'm facing him, his breathing quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth with a wicked grin. "You taste so fine, Miss Steele." He sighs and my insides flip.

 _Oh, fuck._

"Undress me," he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.

All I'm wearing are my shoes—well, Kate's high-heels. I'm taken aback by his words as he's never let me undress him before. Hell, I've never undressed any man before, never mind Christian himself.

"You can do it," he cajoles softly.

I blink rapidly as I wonder where to start. Instinctively I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smiling slyly at me.

"Oh no." He shakes his head, grinning. "Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned." His eyes are alive with excitement.

A new rule, suggesting I can touch him _with_ clothes _on_. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.

"This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele."

I gasp before grinning devilishly and flex my fingers around his girth, causing him to grin in response.

"I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You're in charge."

Holy fuck. This is a revelation like none before. _Mr-CEO-Christian Grey-hot-shot-extr_ _aor_ _d_ _in_ _a_ _ir_ _e is letting someone else be in charge?_

"What are you going to do with me?" he teases as he takes in my shocked expression.

The possibilities goad my pent up frustration, need, and sheer bravery, and I push him onto the bed. Tossing his head back, he laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him, feeling victorious. Quickly, I yank off his shoes, and quite clumsily, his socks. He's staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks not only glorious but young and carefree and for tonight . . . mine. I crawl up my bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair of his oh-so-happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips.

"You'll have to learn to keep still," I scold playfully, pursing my lips as I tug at the hair under his waistband.

His breath hitches, and he grins at me deviously.

"Yes, Miss Steele," he murmurs, eyes burning bright. "In my pocket, condom, you dirty little girl," he breathes.

I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open agape in what seems to now be sheer frustration. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. My over-eager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little in my rush of excitement.

"So eager, Miss Steele," he murmurs, his voice laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and then I'm faced with the problem of removing his pants . . . hmm . . . I shuffle down and pull, but they hardly move, causing me to pout.

"I can't keep still if you're going to bite that lip," he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I'm able to tug down his pants and his boxers at the same time, effectively freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor.

This man, he's all mine. _At least he is in this moment._

"Now what are you going to do?" he breathes, all trace of humor gone. I reach up and touch him, watching his expression as I do. His mouth shapes like a letter O as he takes a sharp breath. His skin is so smooth and velvety . . . and hard . . . hmm, a delicious combination. One I have grown to love immensely over the years. I lean forward, my hair falling around me, and place my lips around him, sucking, hard. He closes his eyes and clutches the sheets as his hips jerk beneath me.

"Fuck, Ana, steady," he groans.

I feel powerful in this position, with Christian fucking Grey beneath me. It's such an exhilarating feeling, teasing and testing him with my mouth and tongue. He tenses underneath me as I run my mouth up and down him, pushing him to the back of my throat, my lips tight . . . again and again, as I please.

"Stop, Ana, stop," he growls, "I don't want to come."

I sit up, blinking at him, panting like him, but confused at the sudden change.

"Your innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming," he gasps. "You, on top . . . that's what we need. Here, put this on," he says tossing me the foil packet.

I rip the packet open and then pause. We've used these every time, but once. Once where he practically blew up afterward. We couldn't run the risk of me falling pregnant with what would be his child and his niece or nephew. Despite all the time, he'd always been in charge.

"Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don't want any air in the end of that sucker," he pants.

And very slowly, concentrating as hard as I can, given the circumstances, I do as I'm told.

"Christ, you're killing me here, Anastasia," he groans.

I admire my handiwork and his body once I'm done. Just looking at him, I know he's a fine specimen of a man. I was very lucky to be the one in his bed.

"Now. I want to be buried inside you," he murmurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we're nose to nose.

"Like this," he breathes, and he snakes one hand around my hips, lifting me, and with the other, he positions himself beneath me and, very slowly, eases me onto him.

I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, agonizing, over-full feeling. _Full of Christian Grey._

"That's right, baby, feel me, all of me," he growls and briefly closes his eyes.

Then he's inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds . . . minutes . . . I have no idea because I lose all sense of time as he stares intently into my eyes.

"You've got such a tight, slick little cunt. So fucking deep this way," he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan as the all-too-familiar sensation radiates throughout every inch of my body.

"Why haven't we done this in so long?" I ask desperately, tugging at his hair. His only response is a deeply satisfied chuckle. "Again," I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges as he watches me ride his cock.

Moaning, I throw my head up, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly, he sinks down on to the bed.

"You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands," he breathes, his voice hoarse and low in his throat.

I clasp his hands, holding on for life, nearly hyperventilating at his touch. Gently I push off him and back down. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation and his breathing is ragged, matching mine, as he lifts his pelvis just as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm . . . up, down, up, down . . . over and over . . . and it feels . . . S _o_. _Damn. Fucking. Good._ Between my panting breaths, the deep brimming fullness, the vehement sensation pulsing through me and building quickly, all I can do is watch him, our eyes locked. What I see is wonder etched upon his face, wonder at me.

 _I_ am fucking _him_. _I_ am in _charge_. He's _mine_ , and _I am his_. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge, and I climax around him . . . shouting incoherently. He grabs my hips, and closes his eyes, tips his head back, clenches his jaw, and he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed by what we've just shared, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.

And best of all, no Leila.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **First, feel free to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed. I'll be getting around to making a group at some point to post teasers, music that inspires, and how I picture our favorite characters.**

 **Second, I've been asked about an update schedule. At this point I'm not entirely sure. I'm slowly but surely editing chapters. It's also a busy time of year for me. I'll try my best to post at least 1 chapter a week. But don't be surprised if there's 2 or 3. As for a day . . . No idea. My schedule is hectic and it could happen at any time.**

 **Third, I'll also start recommending other FSOG fan fictions at the end of each chapter, that I've either read or am in the process of reading. Everyone needs all the support they can get. New or old!! :)**

 **Just one last note before replies.**

 **After this chapter I will be responding to about 5 reviews that you will be able to find at the beginning of each chapter. I honestly wasn't expecting to receive so many. But please note that I'll always try to reply to messages when I can. :)**

 **As always, thank you to E.L James for the contract wouldn't exist as it does without her.**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**

 **motherbeatrice:**

I only promise that Leila is just as bad (if not worse) than the original Leila Williams ;)

 **daytonalay:** Carrick and Grace are the foundation of the Grey family. Carrick is his natural lawyer self and Grace will eventually learn. Fifty will always be a jealous man. He wouldn't be Fifty Shades if he wasn't! As for his intentions . . . we'll see over time. Perhaps there is some love in his heart for the Leila he first met . . .

 **Luvdisney2007:** thank you very much! Happy to see it's a new favorite! Christian is diligent when it comes to birth control, just as he's always been. Well . . . Except that one time after he got married in the original books . . .

 **Ehundl:** thank you!

 **zeeulove:** Carla originally dated Frank who's sister Gracie married Greg. Carla and Greg had an affair resulting in Leila. Once Frank learned the truth, they decided to give Leila up to Gracie and Greg because Gracie couldn't have children of her own. Thus ending the affair between Carla and Greg. Carla and Frank later had Ana, but as the books tell it, he died in an accident the day after her birth. Hope that clears things up :)

 **Shasha77:** thank you very much!

 **nokuzet:** all will eventually come to light :)

 **Guest:** to be fair, Ana sought out Christian. Not the other way around. But Pretty Big Lies is all about deceit and revenge . . . As for a hero . . . Only time will tell.

 **pepe71:** thank you! Carla and Leila really are awful, aren't they? They make the perfect mother and daughter pair. Family always comes first. Hmm . . . I bet Christian has had quite a few eventful "business trips" over the past three years . . .


	5. Chapter 3

**Reviews from Chapter 2:**

 **daytonalay:** Christian has always said that Ana would make a great part of his team when it comes to negotiating. Unfortunately Elena Lincoln has done untold damage on our beloved Christian. And we may delve deeper into their history this time around. Ana may be crazy for Christian but she's one smart cookie. As of right now, her gains are outweighing her sacrifices. Thank you for the review!

 **zeeulove:** I think Christian May have a few tricks up his sleeve. After all, he is the master of his universe. Whether Leila has a forgiving bone in her body is yet to be seen . . .

 **Brennanite025:** thank you!! All will be revealed in time! ;)

 **Karen447:** thank you so much!! :)

 **Luvdisney2007:** Seattle is so vast and there's always the possibility of his office. Hmm . . . that's a tough question. I feel as if Ana might already be 50/50 on that one. After all, it was her choice. As for dating . . . Who said she hasn't or won't? ;)

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Ever so slowly the real world invaded my senses. My body feels like jello. Almost as if I'm floating, my limbs soft and languid. In truth, I'm utterly spent in his warm embrace. I'm lying on top of him, my head on his chest, and he smells divine: freshly laundered linen and some expensive body wash (that I'm proud to proclaim I had chosen for him as a present), and the most seductive scent in the universe . . . Christian Grey.

I don't want to move from this spot or his embrace. Instead, I want to breathe in this elixir for eternity. I nuzzle him, wishing I didn't have the barrier of his T-shirt against me. And as my head comes down from the clouds, I return to the rest of my body, stretching my legs out and wiggling my toes before I stretch my hand out on his firm chest.

As if he's been set on fire, his hand swoops up and grabs mine, but unlike what I witnessed earlier with Leila, he softens the blow by pulling my hand to his mouth and sweetly kissing my knuckles. Then rolls over so he's gazing down at me.

"Don't," he murmurs, before kissing me lightly.

"I don't understand. Why can't you just tell me why you don't like to be touched?" I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes.

"I've told you once before and I won't tell you again. I'm fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia."

His rash honesty is completely disarming and for a moment I think about what he said earlier when he mentioned his early childhood, but all I can do is blink up at him. My look of uncertainty seems to break down his titanium wall by a fraction because he sighs and runs his thumb over my knuckles before kissing my palm ever so gently.

"I had a very tough introduction to life. I don't want to burden you with the details, Little One. Just don't."

He brushes his nose against mine, and then he pulls out of me and sits up, leaving me a gasping puddle of need on top of the sheets.

"I think that was a pleasant refresher course and it seems we covered all the basics. How was that?"

He looks thoroughly pleased with himself and sounds very matter-of-fact at the same time, like he's just marked off another item on his CEO/Dominant checklist.

I huff in annoyance. _Was he like this with Leila? No, he couldn't have been. She was a seasoned Submissive when he contracted her. There was no need for a she-_ _doesn't_ _-know-thing checklist._

As he grins, I sit in the middle of my bed, reeling over his "tough introduction to life" comment. He's just so damn frustrating sometimes. He feeds me bits of information and leaves me desperate to know more. But he won't tell me. He never does. _I wonder if he's the same way with Leila._ I cock my head to one side, like he does, and make an enormous effort to smile at him.

"If you imagine, that for one minute I think you ceded control to me, then you haven't taken into account my GPA." I smile shyly at him, widen my eyes and flutter my lashes. "But thank you for the illusion."

"Miss Steele, you are not just a pretty face. Every orgasm you've ever had, and believe me I've counted them all - belongs to me," he boasts, playfully.

I flush and blink at the same time, remembering my recent dream featuring a toy he had recently promised me.

"Do you have something to tell me?" his voice is suddenly stern.

I frown as I murmur, "I had a dream this morning."

"Oh?" He glares at me.

 _Shit. Double shit. Triple shit._

"I came in my sleep." I throw my arm over my eyes. When he says nothing I peek up at him from under my arm, and he looks amused.

"In your sleep?"

"Woke me up."

"I'm sure it did. What were you dreaming about?"

"You," I breathe.

"What was I doing?" He hums and moves up onto his knees.

I throw my arm over my eyes again, fully embarrassed. Like a small child with the innocence, he seems to cherish I briefly entertain the thought that if I can't see him, then he can't see me.

"Anastasia, what was I doing? I won't ask you again."

"You had a riding crop."

He moves my arm as he climbs over me.

"Really?"

"Yes," I mutter, my face turning a nice shade of crimson, a sharp contrast to the delicate pink Christian claims to adore so much.

"There's hope for you yet, Little One, " he murmurs. "I do love a good riding crop and it is a toy we discussed the last time we were together at my office. I may even have a new one in my array of toys that arrived yesterday."

"Brown plaited leather?"

He laughs. "No, but I'm sure I could get one."

Leaning down, he gives me a brief kiss, then stands and grabs his boxers. _He was supposed to stay._ I glance quickly at the time—it's only nine forty.

I scoot out of bed, too, and grab my sweatpants and a cami top, then sit back on the bed, cross-legged, watching him. I don't want him to go. _What can I do?_

"You're still on birth control, correct?" He interrupts my thoughts.

 _What the fuck, Grey?_

"I hate wearing these things," he grumbles. He holds up the condom, then puts it on the floor and slips on his jeans. "Well?" he prompts when I don't reply, and he looks at me expectantly as if he's waiting for my opinion on the weather. Or worse, his marriage. _Shit_.

"Well, yes. We agreed to be extra careful. Isn't that what you wanted? So I wouldn't 'screw you over' as you put it ever-so-delicately in the beginning." I stare down at my hands.

"Yes, it was. But seeing as you've stayed on birth control and you're signing a contract, I don't really see the need for them. It's you and me."

"And Leila," I interject sourly.

 _He is so domineering and such a two-timer_ , I snort.

"Anastasia," he says sternly, "You're overthinking everything. Do you know why I fed you the wine tonight and didn't yell at you about overindulging? It's because a drop of wine in you and you start talking like a fish. I need you to communicate honestly with me. You're sassy as hell half the time and then the other half of the time you clam up and I have no idea what you're thinking."

"And you think you're always honest with me?"

"I endeavor to be." He looks down at me warily. "This will only work if we're honest with each other."

"Then don't shut me out. Besides, I thought you were staying and here you are getting dressed. I'd like you to stay and use this." I hold up the second condom with a smirk.

He smiles and his eyes glow with humor.

"Anastasia, I have crossed so many lines here tonight. I'll have the revised contract ready for you when you get back to Seattle, and then we can really start to play."

"Play?" _Holy shit_. My heart leaps into my mouth.

"I'd like to do a proper scene with you. But I won't until you've signed, so I know you're ready. We need to take this seriously, baby. I can't just keep lightly playing with you. I didn't sign up for plain vanilla and neither did you."

"So technically you're saying I could stretch this out if I don't sign?" I grin flirtatiously.

He seems to assess me as he gazes at me, his lips twitching into a smile. "Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain."

"Crack? How?" I ask, watching as his t-shirt tightens as his biceps flex and he crosses his arms.

He nods slowly, and then he grins like the Cheshire cat. "Could get really ugly."

His grin is infectious and I can't help but grin up at him.

"Ugly, how?"

"Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration."

"You'd kidnap me?"

"Oh yes." He grins.

"Hold me against my will?" I breathe.

"Oh yes." He nods. "And then we're talking TPE 24/7."

"What," I breathe, my heart is pounding . . . if Leila wasn't back at _Escala_ I would beg him.

"Total Power Exchange—around the clock." His eyes are shining, and his excitement is palpable even from where I sit. _Holy shit I want him._ If it wasn't for Leila I could have that and more. Just thinking about her waiting in his bed makes my blood boil and suddenly my mood is soured. "So you would have no choice," he says sardonically.

"Clearly." I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice as my eyes roll.

"Oh, Anastasia Steele, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

 _Shit. Will he stay for this?_

"No," I squeak as my clit throbs with need between my thighs.

"I think you did, you naughty girl. What did I say I'd do to you if you rolled your eyes at me again?"

 _Shit. He's really doing it. Fuck yes._

"Come here," he says softly.

I blanch and sit staring at him, completely immobile as my nerves set in.

"I haven't signed," I whisper.

"I told you what I'd do. I'm a man of my word, Anastasia. I'm going to spank you, and then I'm going to fuck your little cunt within an inch of your life. Very quick and very hard just how you like your little pussy fucked. Looks like we'll need that condom after all."

His voice is so soft, menacing, and it's scorching hot. My insides practically melt with needy, liquid, desire as I feel myself become slick with need yet again. He gazes at me, waiting, eyes blazing.

Tentatively, I uncurl my legs. _Should I run?_ I could. But I won't.

In this moment, our relationship hangs in the balance, right here, right now. Do I let him do this just as he has a million times before or do I say no, and then that's it? Because I know it will be over if I say no.

This is different compared to the before. Before we were playing with distance and time. Now we're risking it all to continue an affair that never should have started to begin with.

The slickness between my thighs gives me my answer, but my subconscious is as paralyzed as I am.

"I'm waiting," he says. "I'm not a patient man."

As blood pounds through my veins, I slowly crawl over to him until I am beside him. Right where I belong.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now stand up."

Hesitantly, my legs feeling like jelly, I clamber to my feet. He holds his hand out, and I place the condom in his palm. Suddenly he grabs me, tugging me across his lap. With one smooth movement, he angles his body so my torso is resting on the bed beside him. He throws his right leg over both of mine and plants his left forearm on the small of my back, holding me down so I can't move.

"Put your hands up on either side of your head," he orders. I obey immediately before he asks, "Why am I doing this, Anastasia?"

"Because I rolled my eyes at you," I murmur.

"Do you think that's polite?"

"No."

"Will you do it again?"

"No."

"I will spank you each time you do it, do you understand?"

Very slowly, he pulls down my sweatpants. He's making such a meal of my embarrassment that I squirm in his lap. My heart is in my mouth and I can barely breathe because of the anticipation.

He places his hand on my naked behind, softly fondling me, stroking around and around with his flat palm. Then his hand is no longer there . . . and he hits me—harder than ever before. My eyes spring open in response to the brief flash of pain, and I try to rise, but his hand moves between my shoulder blades, keeping me down. And just like that, the pain is gone.

He caresses me again, right where he's hit me, and his breathing's changed—it's louder, harsher than before. He hits me again and again, quickly in succession. _Holy fuck_. I make no sound, my face screwed up against the flashes of pain. This isn't like before. Before was all about pleasure. This is the opposite. He's punishing me. And as much as it doesn't hurt physically, it hurts inside.

My heart races at the realization and I try to wriggle away from the blows—spurred on by my adrenaline spiking and coursing through my body.

"Keep still," he growls, "or I'll spank you more than I planned on."

He's rubbing me now, and the blow follows. A rhythmic pattern emerges: caress, fondle, hard slap. I have to concentrate to handle the feelings crashing through my body.

I concentrate on clearing my mind as I endeavor to absorb every sensation. Just as always, he doesn't hit me in the same place twice in succession, instead he's spreading the pain across my skin.

"Ah!" I cry out on the tenth slap—and I'm suddenly aware that I've been mentally counting each blow.

"I'm just getting warmed up, baby girl."

He hits me again, then he strokes me softly. The combination of the hard stinging blow and his gentle caress is so mind-numbing. But as he hits me again I realize that it's getting harder to take. My jaw hurts, it's clenched so tight and my heart is in my throat. He strokes me gently and then the twelfth blow comes and I cry out in desperation.

"No one to hear you, baby, just me," he says huskily.

And he hits me again and again. From somewhere deep inside, I want to beg him to stop. But I don't.

Part of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction and the other part of me wants to please him deeply, knowing this is what he craves. What he can get from Leila if I say no.

He continues the unrelenting rhythm causing me to cry out six more times. Eighteen slaps in total. My body is on a high from his merciless assault but my heart and mind are both nearly torn in two.

"Enough," he breathes hoarsely. "Well done, Anastasia. Now I'm going to fuck you."

He caresses my behind gently, and it burns as he strokes me around and around and down towards my slick pussy. Suddenly, he inserts two fingers inside my soaked core, taking me completely by surprise. I gasp at the new feeling, breaking through the numbness around my brain.

"Feel this. See how much your body likes this, Anastasia. You're soaking just for me." There's a deep underlining of awe in his voice as he speaks and continues to move his fingers in and out of my aching core in quick succession.

I groan as I feel my body coil and then his fingers are gone . . . and I'm left wanting, _needing_.

"Next time, I will get you to count-"

"Eighteen," I breathe.

"What?" he asks seemingly shocked by my answer. "Oh, little girl how you please me. Now, where's that condom?"

He reaches beside him for the condom and gently lifts me off his lap, maneuvering me so I'm lying face down on the bed. I hear the sound of his zipper and the familiar rip of the foil before he pulls my sweatpants completely off and then guides me into a kneeling position, gently caressing my now very sore behind.

"I'm going to take you now, Anastasia. You can come," he murmurs.

 _He says it as if my body has a choice after experiencing his merciless touch._

And then, he's inside me, quickly filling me, causing me to gasp loudly. He moves, pounding into me, a fast, intense pace against my sore and surely red behind. The feeling is beyond anything I've ever experienced with him. It's exquisite, raw,— _debasing like I asked for_ —and mind-blowing.

My senses are just a mere memory. Instead I feel disconnected, solely concentrating on what he's doing to me. How he's making me feel that familiar pull deep in my belly, tightening, quickening, teetering over the edge of insanity.

I try to prolong it, craving his voice to send me into a tailspin, but it never comes. Then all at once, my traitorous body explodes in an intense, mind-shattering orgasm.

"Oh fuck, Ana!" he cries out loudly for the first time since he entered me as he finds his release, holding me in place as he pours himself into me. Then, he collapses, panting hard beside me, before pulling me on top of him and burying his face in my hair, as he holds me close.

"Oh, baby," he breathes. "I'm so pleased that you're part of my world."

 _But am I, really?_

We lie there, panting, waiting for our breathing to slow and our hearts to turn to normal.

He gently strokes my hair as I lay on top of his chest. Only this time, I don't have the strength to lift my hand and feel him beneath my fingers. Christian nuzzles my hair again, inhaling deeply.

"Well done, baby," he whispers, quiet joy in his voice. His words curl around me like a soft, fluffy towel from the confines of his mega-office-bathroom on the top floor of GEH, and I'm so pleased that he's happy. That _I_ , little-old-Anastasia-Steele have made him _this_ happy.

He picks at the strap on my camisole.

"Is this what you always sleep in?" he asks gently.

"Yes," I breathe sleepily.

"You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful girl. I'll take you shopping."

"I like my sweats," I murmur, trying and failing to sound irritated.

He kisses my head again and hums.

"We'll see, I much rather have you in my own clothing," he says.

We lie for a few more minutes, hours, _who really knows_ , and I begin to doze.

Leaning down, he kisses my forehead gently. "Are you okay?" His voice is so soft.

I think about his question in depth. My backside is sore. Well, glowing now, and amazingly I feel, apart from exhausted, radiant. The realization is humbling and completely unexpected. I don't understand it at all.

 _And perhaps I never will._

"I'm okay," I whisper. I don't want to say more than that for fear of an inquisition.

He rises with ease and smooths my unruly hair down.

"I'll be right back."

He scoops up the other condom and heads out of my bedroom.

Rising stiffly I put my sweatpants back on. As I sit down they chafe a little against my sore behind. I feel . . . sated.

Quite honestly, I feel confused by my reaction.

I remember him saying—the same night we first got together—that I would feel so much better after a good hiding. After all this time, I still don't understand how can that be so. I really don't get it. But at the same time, I strangely do. I can't say that I've ever truly enjoyed the experience. In fact, I would still go a long way to avoid it.

I've never outright refused because before it wasn't about punishment and quite frankly, it pleases me to please Christian.

Even now I feel safe, but odd, as I sit bathed in the afterglow, feeling sated. But also feeling flustered, I put my head in my hands with a sigh.

Christian reenters the room but I can't look him in the eye. I stare down at my hands instead, picking at my cuticles.

"I found the baby oil. I'll massage it into your behind."

"No. I'll be fine."

"Anastasia," he warns, and I want to roll my eyes but quickly stop myself. Instead, I stand to face the bed.

Sitting beside me, he gently pulls my sweatpants down again. Christian squirts baby oil into his hand and then massages my behind with careful tenderness—from makeup remover to soothing balm for a spanked ass— _who would have thought it was such a versatile liquid?_

"I like my hands on you," he murmurs, and I have to agree. "There," he says when he's finished, and he pulls my pants up again.

I glance over at my clock. Ten thirty.

"I'm leaving now."

"I'll see you out." I can't bear the thought of looking at him in the moment, so instead I keep my head down.

Taking my hand, he leads me to the front door. Fortunately, Kate is still not home. She must still be having after dinner drinks with her parents and Ethan. I'm really glad she's not been around to hear my chastisement. Especially if she has Elliot in tow.

"Don't you have to call Taylor?" I ask, avoiding eye contact, instead I again stare down at my nails.

"Taylor's been here since nine. Look at me," he breathes.

I struggle to meet his eyes, but when I do, he's gazing down at me with wonder.

"You promised you would stay."

"We're starting a contract, Anastasia," he breathes, "We need to set boundaries."

"Because there aren't enough of those already," I quip.

"Ana-" he says warningly.

"She's still at the hotel, isn't she?"

"Leila is at home. I could call her to prove it to you, but then she'd want to initiate a call I really don't want to endure," he says sternly, then his expression changes, "I wouldn't lie to you, Anastasia. Trust. This is about trust," he says softly.

"I know," I murmur, shyly.

"You didn't cry," he murmurs, then grabs me suddenly and kisses me fervently. "You never cry," he whispers against my lips, and it's both in awe and frustration.

 _Does he want to see me cry? I fear if I started crying in front of him I may never stop. Not with how I feel about him and not with how I feel about Leila._

I watch him walk down the path and climb into the big black Audi waiting at the curb. He doesn't look back.

Not once.

 _He never does._

I close the door and stand helplessly in the living room of an apartment that I shall only spend another two nights in. A place I have lived happily for almost four years . . . yet today, for the first time ever, I feel lonely and uncomfortable here, unhappy with my own company.

Of course, if I'm being honest, I'm never truly comfortable with myself. I've been playing a part since Leila entered my life and Carla began to control every aspect of it.

For over two years, nearly three as I think back on it, I have evolved into a different person. _Have I strayed so far from who I am?_ I know that lurking, not very far under my rather numb exterior, is a well of tears. _What am I doing?_

In the beginning, I was enthralled with the mere idea of Christian. When Leila divulged their shared lifestyle to me, to say I was shocked would be a lie. In truth, I had discovered their shared secret long before. Even before I heard Christian arguing with Mrs. Robinson.

Elena Lincoln was a snake in luxe clothing.

The irony was, Christian and I were far more similar than either of us could have ever imagined. When I confronted him about Elena, he had been angry. Perhaps if I had told him about husband number three things would be different. He might have spoken up. Instead, he fell into their trap.

Several weeks before it all started, I insisted to Christian that he wasn't in love with Leila. That she couldn't give him what he really wanted because her plan was to string him along. Of course, he didn't believe a word I said. Chalking it up to me being jealous of Leila, just as Leila and our mother had told him.

So rather than convincing him, I had instead become what he most desired. I had studied his world and had conjured a plan. I had slipped away from Leila's bachelorette party and made a surprise entrance into Christian's bachelor party.

Then, I had brought him home and kneeled at his feet. Gifting him my submission.

I knew he was just as attracted to me as I was to him, given the times I had caught him staring at me from across the room or from across the dinner table. So, I knew when he brushed against me as we danced that I could have my cake and eat it too, as long as I obeyed him.

Of course, back then it had been a game. A way of making sure Leila never truly had exactly what she wanted. Now . . . now, it was more. I had fallen down the rabbit hole and there was no turning back.

Shaking my head, I realize I've been too enamored in my own thoughts to even lock the door, much less to move from the spot I seem to be rooted in.

Moving towards the kitchen I open a bottle of wine and pour it into a washed teacup.

I swallow a mouthful and wince at the taste. It's nothing like the Bollinger and with Kate's upbringing, I'm surprised she doesn't know her wine better.

I drink a few teacups full of wine before deciding to check my email before heading to bed.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: You

Date: May 26 2011 23:14

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave woman I have ever met. Take some Advil—this is not a request. And don't drive your Beetle again. I will know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Oh, please.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Flattery

Date: May 26 2011 23:20

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you've been everywhere the point is moot.

Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.

Ana

P.S.: I've decided that Caning is most definitely a HARD limit for me.

I hit "send."

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Frustrating Women Who Can't Take Compliments

Date: May 26 2011 23:26

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.

I accept your addition to the hard limits.

Don't drink too much.

Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Taylor—Is He the Right Man for the Job?

Date: May 26 2011 23:40

To: Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some woman you fuck occasionally. A side piece if you will. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Careful!

Date: May 26 2011 23:44

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you've had a very long day.

Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don't sit down for a week, rather than an evening.

Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.

Now please do not refer to yourself as "some woman I fuck occasionally" or as "a side piece" because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 26 2011 23:57

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I'm not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 27 2011 00:03

To: Anastasia Steele

Why don't you like me?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 27 2011 00:09

To: Christian Grey

Because you never stay with me.

There, that's given him something to think about, I pout. I shut the laptop down with a flourish I don't really feel and crawl into my bed.

I switch off my sidelight and stare up at the ceiling. It's been one long day, one emotional rollercoaster moment after another.

It was heartwarming to spend some time with Ray. He looked well, and oddly, he seems close to Christian. Even Carla's attitude couldn't ruin that apparent moment in my eyes.

Hearing Christian speak about being hungry. _What the hell is that all about?_ _Why, after all this time, do I not know?_

Then Leila's attitude about Christian not fulfilling his promise to spend time with her. _God, what did I do?_ I only made things harder for him. _Have I been that much of a selfish wench?_ The answer was a resounding _yes._

God, and the car. I haven't even told Kate about the new car. I can't even bare to think about what Kate will say, let alone what Elliot, Leila, and his parents will think. Mia will think its marvelous until she realizes he hasn't gifted her a car in nearly two years. _What was Christian thinking?_

And then this evening, we went over the rules and stipulations. I let him _spank_ me as a _punishment_. Then, _he just left._

Very slowly, my tears, halted by the wine and the arrival of Christian's emails, begin to slide down the side of my face and into my ears. I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down and irrevocably unavailable, I will only get hurt—deep down I know this—someone who, by his own admission is completely fucked up.

 _Why is he so fucked up?_

It must be awful to be as affected as he is, and the thought that as a toddler he suffered some unbearable cruelty makes me cry harder. _Perhaps, if he was more normal he wouldn't want me._

 _Perhaps if he knew what a destructive monster I truly am, he_ _wouldn't_ _want me._

The thought makes me gasp for breath, and in my heart of hearts, I know this is the truth. If Christian knew half of what I had done to become his, even to protect him, he would never look at me the same way again.

I _am_ an awful human being. I _am_ a monster.

I turn into my pillow and the flood gates open . . . and for the first time in years, I am sobbing into my pillow uncontrollably.

I am momentarily distracted from my dark thoughts by the distinct sound of a door slamming shut.

I sit up in alarm and two seconds later Christian bursts into my bedroom and unceremoniously switches on the overhead light, making me squint.

"Jesus, Ana," he mutters. He flicks the switch off again and is at my side in a moment.

"What are you doing here?" I gasp between sobs. I'm such a mess that I can't even stop crying. _Just like I_ _predicted when he was leaving._

He switches on the lamp, making me squint again and I see that he's left my door cracked open.

Christian gazes down at me, his expression grave, his face ashen. He's wearing his pinstriped jacket, and from his inside pocket he pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to me. I think I still have his other one somewhere.

"What's going on?" he asks quietly.

"Why are you here?" I ask, ignoring his question. My tears have miraculously ceased, but I'm left with dry heaves racking my body.

"Part of my role is to look after your needs-"

"You're doing a marvelous job," I say cutting him off.

"Ana," his tone is reprimanding. "You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am. And yet I find you like this." He blinks at me, truly bewildered. "I'm sure I'm responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I spanked you?"

I pull myself up to sit and face him, wincing from my sore behind.

"Did you take some Advil?"

I shake my head. He narrows his eyes, stands and leaves the room. Then he's back a few moments later with pills and a teacup of water.

"Take these," he orders gently as he sits on my bed beside me.

I do as I'm told under his intense graphite gaze.

"Talk to me," he whispers. "You told me you were okay. I'd never have left you if I thought you were like this."

I stare down at my hands. What can I say that I haven't said already? I want more. I want him to stay because he wants to stay with me, not because I'm a blubbering mess, and I don't want him to leave because of Leila. Is that really so unreasonable?

"I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren't."

I flush at his correct conclusion and murmur, "I thought I was fine."

"Anastasia, you can't tell me what you think I want to hear. That's not very honest," he admonishes me. "How can I trust anything you've said to me?"

I peek up at him, and he's frowning, a bleak look in his eye. He runs both hands through his unruly hair.

"How did you feel while I was spanking you?"

"Confused, I guess."

"Alright, and after?"

"I didn't like it. I'd rather you didn't do it again as a punishment."

"You weren't meant to like it."

"Why do you like it?" I stare up at him.

My question surprises him.

"You really want to know?"

"Oh, trust me, I'm fascinated." And I can't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice this time around.

He narrows his eyes again.

"Careful," he warns.

I blanch. "Are you going to hit me again?"

"No, I am not going to _spank_ you. Not tonight. Although I should. You put yourself in danger by leaving the damn door unlocked Anastasia! Any creep could have snuck in here and . . . they could have hurt you. I mean _really_ hurt you."

His gray eyes are huge and full of fear as he speaks, and all I can do is twist my fingers together.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Oh, Ana," he breathes.

"So," I prompt, wondering about my earlier question.

"I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don't, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I've wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay the day I refused to acknowledge your nosy friend."

I flush at the memory. I wanted to spank myself after that question. If it hadn't been for Katherine Kavanagh and the drinks she kept handing off to me at our first dinner at the Grey's . . . she was responsible for all this. If she had asked her gay question, I never would have followed him into the hall and heard his meant-to-be-private conversation with Elena fucking Lincoln.

"So you don't like the way I am."

He stares at me, bewildered again. "I think you're lovely the way you are."

"So why are you trying to change me?"

"I don't want to change you. I'd like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I've given you and to not defy me. It's that simple," he says.

"But you want to punish me?"

"Yes, I do."

"That's what I don't understand."

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again.

"It's the way I'm made, Anastasia. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don't—I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on."

 _I already knew that_.

"So it's not the pain you're putting me through?"

He swallows.

"A bit, to see if you can take it, but that's not the whole reason. It's the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit—ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on. Big time, Anastasia. Add on your wit and sass, you are perfect, Little One," he breathes and I melt at the use of his nickname for me. "Look, I'm not explaining myself very well . . . I've never had to before. I've never really thought about this in any great depth. I've always been with like-minded people. Until things became serious with Leila." He shrugs apologetically. "And you still haven't answered my question in full—how did you feel afterward? I know you said you didn't like it but how did you really feel in the moment? "

"Confused. I already said I was confused. I'm still confused."

"You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia." He closes his eyes briefly, and when he reopens them and gazes at me, they are blazing like the ashes of a fire.

His expression pulls at my core, buried in the depths, woken and tamed by him but, even now, insatiable.

"It wasn't the punishment that turned me on, Christian. It wasn't even my own submission. It was you. Just you," I breathe.

"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs. I frown as he says, "I don't have any condoms, Anastasia, and you know, you're upset. Contrary to what some may believe, I'm not a priapic monster. So, you felt and still feel confused?"

I squirm under his intense gaze.

"You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your emails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can't you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?"

I pick at an imaginary spot on my mother's blue-and-cream quilt. From before number three.

"You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun," I whisper. "It's like when I'm with you I'm on a spinning teacup. I just spin and spin and spin, over and over and over again. There's nowhere else to go."

He gasps and shakes his head. "Well, I think you've got that the wrong way around," he whispers.

"What?"

"Oh, Anastasia, you've bewitched me. Isn't it obvious?"

"W-What?" I ask, staring at him with my mouth hanging open.

"You've still not answered my question to satisfaction. For an English Literature graduate, I'm somewhat disappointed. Write me an email, please. As of right now, I'd really like to sleep. Can I stay, Little One?"

"Do you want to stay?" I can't hide the hope in my voice as I practically melt into a puddle of goo.

"You wanted me here."

"You haven't answered my question," I murmur playfully.

"I'll write you an email," he mutters petulantly.

Standing, he empties his jeans pockets of his keys, wallet, money, and his beloved BlackBerry. _Men carry a lot of crap in their pockets._ Then, he strips off his watch, shoes, socks, and jeans and places his jacket over my wicker chair. He walks around to the other side of the bed and slides in.

"Lie down," he orders.

I slip slowly under the covers, wincing as I stare at him. _He's staying._ He leans up on one elbow, staring down at me.

"If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know that you're okay."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Not particularly. I just want to know how you're feeling. I don't want you slipping through my fingers," he murmurs. "Switch the light off. It's late, and we both have to work tomorrow."

He's here . . . and as bossy as ever, but I can't complain simply because, he's in my bed. I don't quite understand why . . . _maybe I should cry my eyes out more often in front of him. It's surely therapeutic._ I switch off the bedside lamp.

"Lie on your side, facing away from me," he murmurs in the darkness.

I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he cannot see me, but I do as I'm told. Gingerly, he moves over and puts his arms around me and pulls me to his chest.

"Sleep, Little One," he whispers, and I feel his nose in my hair as he inhales deeply.

 _Holy Jesus_. Christian Grey is sleeping with _me_.

I close my eyes and feel a smile tug at the corner of my lips and within the comfort and solace of his arms, I drift into a peaceful sleep.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **Just a few quick things.**

 **One, feel free to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed and make sure to join the Facebook Group: Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces:** h t t p : / / m . f a c e b o o k . c o m / g r o u p s / 2 1 5 8 4 7 9 2 7 4 4 3 2 3 2 4

 **Two, I've come down with a cold and am trying my best to rest before focusing on more updates this week. However, a friends grandpa passed away this week and I will be spending time with her this Wednesday and Thursday. So, if you don't see an update Wednesday evening, there should be one up by Friday.**

 **Last but not least, I promised to start recommending a FSoG FanFiction read every chapter and this time around it's . . . _Fifty_ _Shades_ _Meander_ by Mobabe which can also be found on her blog. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces: **h t t p : / / f i f t y s h a d e s o f g r e y a n d m o r e . w o r d p r e s s . c o m / f i f t y - s h a d e s - m e a n d e r /

 **This was the first Fifty Shades Of Grey fanfiction that I read after reading the trilogy the first time. I googled the trilogy and whether there was more to be found and thankfully Fifty Shades Meander introduced me to the wonderful world of Fifty Shades FanFiction!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	6. Chapter 4

**Reviews from Chapter 3:**

 **daytonalay:** thank you for the well wishes! Ana is indeed vulnerable and Christian definitely still has a thing or two to learn . . .

 **Diane2229:** Christian is a complicated character. We'll see more of him and what he's really feeling throughout the story. Thank you for the well wishes!

 **Guest:** Kate does indeed live with Ana. But this particular night she's out celebrating her graduation with her family and catching up with dear old Ethan. Elena is always up to something, isn't she? As for the virgin question, all will be revealed. After all, it's not as if it's not possible to be a tease and stay a virgin ;)

 **KMariaJ:** Even from the Prologue we can see that Christian isn't taking this lightly. Yes, he marries Leila. But at the end of the day he has his reasons. Christian has craved normalcy his entire life. When the idea was planted like a seed, he had to take it and run with it. Ana may have just blossomed a little too late for either of their liking. 

**zeeulove:** Christian has many intentions for his Little One. Some will be revealed within the next few chapters. Forewarning: it gets worse before it gets better. But doesn't it always? ;) 

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

 _T_ _he flame of the candle is burning hot against my skin. It flickers and dances in the ocean breeze, a breeze that brings no comfort from the stifling heat._

 _Ever so soft wings flutter to and fro in the dark of the night, sprinkling sparkling gray dust in the circle of light. I struggle to pull back, but my body moves forward—right towards what I believe to be an angel- all on its own, unable to resist temptation and morbid curiosity._

 _Just as I catch a glimpse of the angels face, I become blinded by the light. Almost as if I'm being blinded by the sun. And then, I find that I am. My feet are off the sand and far beneath is the vast ocean._

 _The sun dazzles me as I move closer and closer. The heat envelopes my body, making my skin sticky with sweat as I begin to struggle to stay airborne. Where's my angel? I'm so warm. The heat begins to stifle my ability to breathe, overpowering my lungs as I gasp for breath._

I open my eyes to find that I am draped in Christian Grey. He's wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. The man is fast asleep with his head on my chest, his left arm is draped over me, holding me close, and his left leg is thrown over and hooked around both of mine. The body heat radiating off of him is suffocating and with the brunt of his heavy weight upon me, he's sufficiently pinning me down.

I take a moment to absorb that for once he's still in my bed and sound asleep. And to top it all off, it's light outside—morning. He's spent the entire night with me.

Despite our many attempts, this hasn't happened since the first time.

My right arm is stretched out across what little space of bed I have beside me, no doubt in search of a cool spot beside the fire on top of me _He's st_ _ill_ _with me._ As I process the fact that he's still with me, it occurs to me I can touch him if I so desire. It just so happens that I do. The man is sound asleep and irresistible.

Tentatively, I lift my hand and run the tips of my fingers down his T-shirt clad back. The muscles in his shoulders tighten and deep in his throat, I hear a faint, distressed groan as he stirs.

First, he nuzzles my chest, inhaling deeply as he wakes and ruffles my T-shirt. Then, sleepy, blinking, bright gray eyes meet mine beneath his tousled mop of copper hair. He looks breathtaking in the morning sun. And briefly I have to wonder if Leila knows and appreciates the specimen that she has the privilege of waking up next to every morning.

"Good morning," he mumbles and frowns as he takes in the way our bodies are tangled together. "Jesus, even in my sleep I'm drawn to you."

He moves slowly, uncurling his limbs from around me as he gets his bearings. I become aware of his erection against my hip. Noticing my wide-eyed, hopeful reaction at the mere possibility, he smiles a slow, panty-melting smile.

"Hmm . . . this has possibilities," he says, echoing my exact thoughts. "But I think we should wait until Sunday." He pauses and grins as he says, "Family dinner." Then he leans down and nuzzles my ear with the tip of his nose.

I flush from the thought of us fucking in his parent's house, even though it's been done before, but then I feel as if I'm Fifty shades of scarlet from his heat.

"You're very hot," I murmur.

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmurs and proceeds to suggestively press his rock-hard erection against my thigh.

I flush at his antics as I mumble, "That's not what I meant," with a sullen tone.

He props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at me with a grin of amusement. Then he bends and, to my surprise, plants a gentle kiss on my swollen lips.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

I nod, staring up at him, and I realize that unlike most nights, I've slept very well. Except for maybe the last half hour when I was too hot.

"So did I." He frowns. "Yes, really well." He raises his eyebrows in confused surprise. "What's the t-"

"Banana!"

I sit up alarmed at the sound of Elliot's voice ringing through the apartment.

"Kate's car wasn't here?" I ask frantically.

"No?" he mumbles, almost as a question as he sits up in bed.

"Oh, Banana! Kate told me to let myself in when I got here. Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Eyes wide, I scramble off my bed and towards the door, shutting it firmly just as Elliot reaches the other side.

"Banana? Are you not alone?"

"Elliot-"

"Wait one fucking second. There's a coat on the barstool. Who the fuck deflowered my little Banana?!" His footsteps fall away from the door, but just as suddenly they come closer and then he uses his fist to pound on the door. "Banana! Open the fucking door!" I stare at Christian in panic and begin to shake as the doorknob rattles. "Open the fucking door right now!"

Unable to keep it closed with my own body weight as Christian stands from the bed, the door flies open, sending me falling back. I miss the bed by an inch and fall to the floor with an "Oomph!"

"Ana!"

Christian's arms are around me in a second, helping me from the floor. When I look up, Elliot looks as if he's seen a ghost.

"Holy fucking shit."

"El-"

"Holy. Mother. Fucking. Shit!"

"I can explain," Christian says calmly.

"I sure mother fucking hope so! You fucking bastards! Why would you cheat on Leila?! What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea what this will do to her? Her own sister? How could you?!"

As Elliot shouts and flails his arms around I gasp for breath, struggling to breathe as I think about everyone finding out. _T_ _hey_ _would never forgive me. The family who disowned me would cut me off completely. Ray would never look at me the same way again. And Christian's family . . . They would hate me. They'd never be able to look at me again. I wouldn't be able to look at them._

"She'll hate me. They'll all hate me. Oh, God. W-What have I-"

"Ana! Ana, breathe, breathe for me Little One," Christian murmurs, lowering me down onto the bed to sit on the edge. Catching my face in his hands he kisses my forehead softly as I begin to catch my breath. "No one is going to find out. I promise you, she won't find out baby." He pauses and shoots Elliot a sharp look as he says, "Elliot won't tell anyone about this. Right, Elliot?"

Elliot's face falls as he looks at me.

"No, no they won't. I'm sorry Banana. It's not you I'm mad at." He stops and looks at Christian with a hard glare, "How long has this been going on?"

Christian growls out, "It's none of your business."

"How long Christian?!"

"A little over two years and a half years. About three," I murmur.

Elliot lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"What?" Christian asks, looking completely thrown.

Elliot throws him a wry look.

"Christian, you've known her since . . . she was practically a kid. I was just-"

"It was the night of my bachelor party."

"What?" Elliot asks bewildered.

"You know when Kate and Ana stuck in under the premise of Kate surprising you? Well, one thing led to another and here we are."

"Shit. Ana, that was - shit. I'm sorry, but how does Leila not know?"

"We've been careful, I guess," Christian says. "Truthfully, I don't know how we've gone this long without being caught. We were pretty reckless in the beginning," he says softly.

"I guess you would have to be to even consider doing what you're doing. Given the time and everything-"

"Time! What's the time?" Christian asks suddenly.

I glance at my alarm.

"It's seven thirty."

"Seven thirty . . . shit." He scrambles to stand up from his spot where he'd been kneeling in front and me and manages to drag on his jeans.

It is my turn to look amused as I sit up. Christian Grey is late _and_ flustered. This is something I have never seen before, and it's quite amusing. I shift in my spot and belatedly realize that my behind is no longer sore as he rushes around.

"You are such a bad influence on me, Little One. I have a meeting. I have to go—I have to be in Portland by eight. Are you smirking at me?"

"Yes."

He grins. "I'm late. I don't do late. Another first, Miss Steele." He pulls on his jacket and then bends down and grasps my head, his hands on either side.

"Sunday," he says, and the word is heavy with an unspoken promise. Everything deep in my body uncurls and then clenches in delicious anticipation of what is to come Sunday.

 _Holy hell,_ if my mind could just keep up with my body. He leans forward and kisses me quickly before he grabs his stuff from my side table and his shoes—which he doesn't even bother to put on.

"Taylor will come and sort out your Beetle. I was serious. _Don't_ drive it. I'll see you at my place on Sunday."

"What about Leila?" I ask worriedly.

"I'll take care of it," he says, giving Elliot a pointed look, "I'll email you a time." And like a whirlwind, he's gone.

Christian Grey spent the night with me, and I feel _rested_. For once, there was no sex, only cuddling. He told me he never slept with anyone like that—except Leila and now twice with me. I grin, feeling a bit more optimistic than I have for the last day or so. Then Elliot breaks me out of my fog.

"Well that was interesting and all but I really only have one more question and then I just don't want to know."

I nod, heading for the kitchen with Elliot on my tail, needing a cup of tea.

"Does Kate know?"

I turn and look at Elliot, feeling guilty.

"No. I swear, she hasn't the slightest idea. I promise you. She'd never hide anything like that from you anyway. She's probably going to hand my ass to me when she finds out."

"How will she find out?" he asks.

"I assume you're going to tell her. Or do you want me to tell her?"

"I think it might be better coming from me. I could tell her on vacation. Soften the blow a little. Maybe give her some time to cool off."

"You would do that for me?"

"I'd do it for Katie, but yeah, for you, too. Leila is a conniving bitch if you ask me," he grins. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Kate should be here sometime soon. She went out with Ethan last night and I think she crashed at his hotel."

"Well, if I miss her, tell her I said hi."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

After breakfast, I shower and dress quickly for my last day at Clayton's. It's the end of an era—good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, WSU, Vancouver, the apartment, my Beetle. I glance at the laptop—it's only 7:52 which means I have just enough time for some light e-mail banter with my favorite Grey.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Assault and Battery: The After-Effects

Date: May 27 2011 08:05

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

You wanted to know why I felt confused after you—which euphemism should we apply—spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me. Well, during the whole alarming process, I felt demeaned, debased, and . . . abused isn't the right word. Perhaps it was more a feeling of confusion?

And much to my mortification, you're right, I was aroused, and that was unexpected. As you are well aware, all things punishment are new to me—I only wish I was more experienced and therefore more prepared. I was shocked to feel aroused. Although, after some deep thinking I believe it's my want and need to please you as my Dom—and as Mine—that leaves me feeling aroused after a spanking.

What really worried me was how I felt afterward. And that's more difficult to articulate. I was pleased to have pleased you. I felt relieved that it wasn't as painful as I thought it would be. And when I was lying in your arms, I felt . . . sated. But I feel very uncomfortable, guilty even, feeling that way. Especially, given the circumstances. It doesn't sit well with me, and I'm confused as a result. Does that answer your question?

I hope the world of Mergers and Acquisitions is as stimulating as ever . . . and that you weren't too late.

Thank you for staying with me.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Free Your Mind

Date: May 27 2011 08:24

To: Anastasia Steele

Interesting . . . if slightly overstated title heading, Miss Steele.

To answer your points:

• I'll go with spanking—as that's what it was.

• So you felt demeaned, debased, abused, and assaulted—how very Tess Durbeyfield of you. I believe it was you who decided on the debasement if I remember correctly. Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very different things. Especially given the circumstances as you've called it. You should not feel guilty. It's not just you in this duo. If that is how you feel, do you think you could just try to embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That's what a submissive would do.

• I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I'm only beginning to understand what it means. Simply put . . . it means that you are mine in every way. Just as I, am yours.

• Yes, you were aroused, which in turn was very arousing, there's nothing wrong with that. It pleases me that you so enjoying pleasing me.

• Happy does not even begin to cover how I felt. Ecstatic joy comes close, Little One.

• Punishment spanking hurts far more than sensual spanking—so that's about as hard as it gets, unless, of course, you commit some major transgression, in which case I'll use some implement to punish you with. My hand was very sore. But I like that. I also happen to like you sore and pink. I'll never mark your porcelain skin, Anastasia. You're far too precious.

• I felt sated, too—more so than you could ever know.

• Don't waste your energy on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves. You need to free your mind and listen to your body. It's just you and me. You do not need to worry about anyone else outside of us. I would never let anyone destroy what we share.

• The world of MA is not nearly as stimulating as you are, Miss Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 _Holy crap . . . mine in every way._

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Consenting Adults!

Date: May 27 2011 08:26

To: Christian Grey

Aren't you in a meeting?

I'm very glad your hand was sore.

And if I listened to my body, I'd be in Alaska by now.

Ana

P.S.: I will think about embracing these feelings and all I ask in return, is that you embrace these new feelings as well.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: You Didn't Call the Cops

Date: May 27 2011 08:35

To: Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele,

I am in a meeting discussing the futures market if you're really interested.

For the record, you stood beside me knowing what I was going to do.

You didn't at any time ask me to stop—you didn't use either safeword.

You are an adult—you have choices.

Quite frankly, I'm looking forward to the next time my palm is ringing with pain.

You're obviously not listening to the right part of your body.

Alaska is very cold and no place to run. I would find you.

I can track your cell phone—remember?

Go to work.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I scowl at the screen because he's right, of course. It's my choice. _Hmm_. Is he serious about coming to find me? I hit "reply."

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Stalker

Date: May 27 2011 08:36

To: Christian Grey

Have you sought therapy for your stalker tendencies?

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Stalker? Me?

Date: May 27 2011 08:38

To: Anastasia Steele

As you well know, I pay the eminent Dr. Flynn a small fortune with regard to my stalker and other tendencies.

Go to work.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Expensive Charlatans

Date: May 27 2011 08:40

To: Christian Grey

May I humbly suggest you seek a second opinion? I am not sure that Dr. Flynn is very effective given the amount of time you've been visiting him.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Second Opinions

Date: May 27 2011 08:43

To: Anastasia Steele

Not that it's any of your business, humble or otherwise, but Dr. Flynn is the second opinion.

You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk—I think that's against the rules. Actually, _I know it is._

GO TO WORK.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: SHOUTY CAPITALS

Date: May 27 2011 08:47

To: Christian Grey

As the object of your stalker tendencies, I think it is my business, actually.

I haven't signed yet. So rules, schmules. And for your information, I don't start until 9:30. Ha.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

Date: May 27 2011 08:49

To: Anastasia Steele

"Schmules"? Not sure where that appears in Webster's Dictionary.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

Date: May 27 2011 08:52

To: Christian Grey

It's between control freak and stalker.

And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.

Will you stop bothering me now, Sir?

Your Little One would like to go to work in her new car.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Challenging but Amusing Young Women

Date: May 27 2011 08:56

To: Anastasia Steele

My palm is twitching.

Drive safely, Miss Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The Audi is a joy to drive because it has power steering. Wanda, my beloved Beetle, has no power in it at all—anywhere—so my usual daily workout, which was driving my Beetle, will cease. Except for yoga when visiting Leila. _Oh, but I will have a personal trainer to contend with, according to Christian's rules._ I frown at the thought. I hate— no, I despise—exercising.

While I am driving, I try to analyze our email exchange. He's a patronizing son of a bitch sometimes. And then I think of Grace and I feel guilty for just a nanosecond. Of course, she wasn't his birth mother. That's a whole world of unknown pain. _Well, patronizing son of a bitch works well, then. Yes. I'm an adult, thank you for reminding me, Christian Grey, and it is my choice._

The problem is, I just want Christian, his baggage on the other hand—right now he has a 747 cargo hold's worth of baggage. I couldn't just lie back and embrace it . . . _could I? Or have I already done so?_

Technically, I accepted the baggage the moment I knelt down on my knees before him. But in truth, I would accept Christian any way I could get him.

I only wonder if he feels the same.

I pull into the parking lot at Clayton's with a sigh of relief. As I make my way in, I can hardly believe it's my last day. Fortunately, the store is busy and time passes quickly. At lunchtime, Mr. Clayton summons me from the stockroom. He's standing beside a motorcycle courier.

"Miss Steele?" the courier asks. I frown questioningly at Mr. Clayton, who shrugs, as puzzled as me. My heart sinks. This has one word written all over it. Or aptly, one name. What has Christian sent me now? I sign for the small package and open it immediately. It's a BlackBerry. A shiny new BlackBerry. My heart sinks further as I switch it on.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN

Date: May 27 2011 11:15

To: Anastasia Steele

I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a better BlackBerry than the model you seem to have lost since you are incapable of answering your emails on-the-go.

Enjoy. ;)

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 _Holy shit. Christian Grey sent a winky face?_

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad

Date: May 27 2011 13:22

To: Christian Grey

I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.

Your stalker tendencies are running wild.

I am at work. I will email you when I get home.

Thank you for yet another gadget.

One, that I've noted is better than the last model I saw Leila with.

I wasn't wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.

Why do you do this?

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Sagacity from One So Young

Date: May 27 2011 13:24

To: Anastasia Steele

Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele.

Dr. Flynn is on vacation.

And I do this because I can.

Also, _my_ Little One deserves the best of the best.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I put the contraption in my back pocket, hating it already but loving it all the same. Emailing Christian is as addictive as heroin, but I am supposed to be working. It buzzes once against my behind . . . _How apt,_ but summoning all my willpower, I ignore it.

At four, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton gather all the other employees in the shop and, during an embarrassing speech, present me with a check for three hundred dollars. In that moment, all the events from the past three weeks—and years—well up inside of me: exams, graduation, an intense, fucked-up billionaire, our affair, punishment, hard and soft limits, playrooms, helicopter rides, and the fact that I will move tomorrow. Amazingly, I hold myself together and manage to hug the Claytons goodbye.

They have been kind and generous employers, and despite the generous circumstances of my future, I will miss them.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Kate is climbing out of her car when I arrive home, all long legs and honey blonde hair.

"What's that?" she says accusingly, pointing at the Audi.

"It's a car," I quip. She narrows her eyes, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she's going to put me across her knee, too. "My graduation present." I try to act nonchalant. _Yes, I get expensive cars given to me every day._

Her mouth drops open and for once, I realize I've shocked Katherine Kavanagh as she stands before me, gaping like a fish.

"What the fuck? Generous, over-the-top bastard, is what your dear brother-in-law is, isn't he?"

I nod. "I did try not to accept it, but frankly, it's just not worth the fight."

Kate purses her lips. "No wonder you seem overwhelmed when he and Leila come around."

"Yeah." I smile wistfully.

"Shall we finish packing?"

I nod and follow her inside where I decide to fish out my phone to check the email from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Sunday

Date: May 27 2011 13:40

To: Anastasia Steele

Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?

I'm leaving for Seattle now.

I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

He sounds so casual it's as if he's discussing the weather rather than our plans to continue our affair. Wondering what he's planned for Leila to do, while I'm there, I decide to email him once we've finished packing. He can be normal and with one moment and then he can be so formal and stuffy the next. Sometimes it's difficult to keep up. _Honestly, it's like an email to an employee._ I roll my eyes at his email defiantly and join Kate to finish packing.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Kate and I are in the kitchen when there's a knock at the door. Opening it, I find Taylor standing on the porch, looking immaculate in his suit. The now familiar trace of ex-army in his buzz cut, his trim physique, and his cool stare, is what I first notice.

"Miss Steele," he says, "I've come for your car."

"Oh yes, of course. Come in, I'll get the keys."

 _Surely this is above and beyond the call of duty._

I wonder again about Taylor's job description despite now knowing him for years. I hand him the keys, and we walk in an uncomfortable silence—for me—toward the light blue Beetle. I open the door and remove the flashlight from the glove box along with a few papers. Then I stand back as I have nothing else that's personal in Wanda. _Goodbye, Wanda. Thank you, Wanda. Thank you for getting me to and fro for the past four years. I wouldn't have gotten so far without you._ I caress her roof as I close the passenger door and smile slightly to myself.

"How long have you worked for Mr. Grey again?" I ask.

"Four years, Miss Steele."

Despite knowing he's probably signed an NDA, I look nervously at him. But he reminds me so much of Ray in his stance, that I warm to him almost immediately.

"He's a good man, Miss Steele," he says with a smile. Then he gives me a little nod, climbs into my car, and drives away.

Apartment, Beetle, Clayton's—it's all changing. One aspect of my life, over and done with.

Shaking my head, I make my way back inside the apartment. The biggest change of all is Christian Grey and the lengths in which we're both willing to go. Taylor believes he's a good man. The only question is if I can believe him. After all, he's keeping Christian's biggest secret yet.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The afternoon passes quickly and by eight we're packed and ready to go when José stops by with Chinese takeout and a six-pack of beer.

We sit on the floor together watching crappy reality TV, drinking beer, and reminiscing about the last four years as the alcohol takes effect.

When the doorbell rings it takes me by surprise and for a brief, fleeting moment, I hope that it's Christian. The moment is ruined, however, when Elliot swoops in and picks Kate up in his arms, spinning her around before he kissed her soundly. Having gone out to spend time with a few friends, he's back to spend the last evening in our apartment with Kate before helping us with our move in the morning.

 _That's what I want. What I crave. What I'll never have if I stand by Christians side—off in the shadows._

After a few moments of being somewhat disgusted by their lack of modesty, José and I make a beeline for it, heading out to the bar down the street. But deep in my mind, I know Christian will not be happy. He's a glutton for punishment and heading out to a bar with José—risking my own safety—definitely fits the bill.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

It's late when I arrive home from the bar and I've managed to be good and only had two drinks.

Kate and Elliot are nowhere to be seen, but holy fuck can they be heard. _H_ _oly shit. I hope I'm not that loud_. I know Christian isn't, _then again he knows control in all things._

Flushing at the memory, I escape to the confines of my bedroom. Once in my room, I check the laptop, because I've again neglected to charge my cell phone, and of course, there's an email from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Where Are You?

Date: May 27 2011 22:14

To: Anastasia Steele

"I am at work. I will email you when I get home."

Are you still at work or have you packed your BlackBerry and MacBook?

Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Crap . . . José . . . shit.

I grab my phone to find five missed calls and one voice message. Tentatively, I listen to the message and of course, it's from Christian.

 _"I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it's not an emotion I'm familiar with, and I don't tolerate it very well. Call me."_

 _Double crap. Will he ever give me a break?_ I scowl at the phone and with deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press "call." My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He'd probably like to beat seven shades of shit out of me. Not that I can blame him. Especially, after I hung out with José of all people—in a bar.

"Hi," he says softly, and his response knocks me off balance because I am expecting his anger, but if anything, he sounds _relieved._

"Hi," I murmur.

"I was worried about you."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't reply, but I'm fine. I'm in one piece and it should please you to know that I think of you every time I take a seat," I quip.

He pauses for a beat.

"Did you have a pleasant evening?" He asks in an overly polite tone.

"Yes. We finished packing and Kate and I had Chinese takeout with José." I close my eyes tightly as I say José's name. Christian says nothing. "How about you?" I ask to fill the sudden deafening chasm of silence. _I will not let him make me feel guilty about José._

Eventually, he sighs, "I really wish you would take my words to heart. I don't feel comfortable letting you be alone with that prick."

"Well does that mean you'll accompany me to the opening of his show?"

"When is it?"

"It's June ninth. It's a Thursday. I know it's in the middle of the week but it's important to me and I'm sure Leila will want to go and . . ." I trail off, out of breath after my rambling of words, "And I really don't want to go alone."

"Consider it done. I'm making sure Andrea has the evening marked in my calendar."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"It's not a problem, sweet girl."

"You didn't answer my question."

Again, he sighs, "I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could."

He sounds so sad and resigned and my heart clenches at the mere thought. I picture him sitting at the piano in his huge living room and the unbearable bittersweet melancholy of the music he plays late into the night. _Would Leila comfort him tonight?_

"I wish you were here," I whisper because I have an urge to hold him. I want to soothe him. Even though he won't let me, I want him close. I want to be able to wrap myself around him and run my fingers through his unruly copper locks.

"Do you?" he murmurs blandly. This doesn't sound like him, and my gut churns with apprehension. _Is she there?_

"Yes," I breathe and after an eternity, he sighs.

"I'll see you Sunday?"

"Yes, Sunday," I murmur, and a thrill courses throughout my body, taking away my brief worry.

"Good night."

"Good night, Sir."

I can tell by his sharp intake of breath, that my use of the address catches him off guard.

"Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia." His voice is soft and I find that we're both hanging on the phone like teenagers, neither wanting to hang up.

"You hang up," I whisper.

"No, you hang up," he whispers huskily and I know he's grinning.

"I don't want to."

"Neither do I," Little One.

 _And like that, I'm forgiven._

"Were you very angry with me?"

"Yes."

"Are you still?"

"No."

"So you're not going to punish me?"

"No. I'm an in-the-moment kind of guy."

"I've noticed. But I do like your twitchy palm."

"Naughty little minx. You can hang up now, Miss Steele."

"Do you really want me to, Sir?"

"Go to bed, Anastasia."

"Yes, Sir."

Yet we both stay on the line.

"Do you ever think you'll be able to do what you're told?" By his tone, I can tell that he's amused and exasperated all at once.

"Maybe. We'll see after Sunday," I quip and I press "end" on the phone.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Elliot admires his handiwork as he stands back, gazing at our large flat screen. He's just plugged the entire system into place so that it's ready for the worker on Monday.

We are officially moved into our Pike Place Market apartment. In all actuality, we're not far from where Christian and Leila live.

Elliot smiles at Kate and she practically melts into a puddle in the middle of the floor, causing me to roll my eyes at the pair of them.

"I wish I could stay, but Mia is back and if I don't attend dinner mom will have my ass. Compulsory family only dinner. Even Leila isn't invited," he says pointedly, sparing me a quick glance.

"Can you come by, after?" Kate asks tentatively.

"Definitely, babe."

"I'll walk you down," Kate smiles.

"Laters, banana," Elliot grins.

"Bye Elliot. Say hi to everyone for me."

"Just hi?" His eyebrows shoot up suggestively as Kate turns towards the door.

"Yes," I flush, shooting him a hard glare. He winks and I flush as he follows Kate out of the apartment.

Elliot is the complete opposite of Christian. He's warm, open, physical-perhaps too physical with Kate at times-and affectionate. The two of them can just barely keep their hands off of each other. To be honest, it's embarrassing watching the two of them together and in truth, I am green with envy.

Around eight, the intercom buzzes. Kate leaps up—and my heart leaps into my mouth.

"Delivery, Miss Steele, Miss Kavanagh." Disappointment flows freely through my veins like an unexpected sting. It's not Christian because it simply can't be. _It_ _never was. Never has been. Never will be. Not so long as Leila is around._

"Second floor, apartment two."

Kate buzzes the delivery boy in. His mouth falls open when he sees makeup-free Kate in her attire of tight jeans, T-shirt, and hair piled high with escaping tendrils. She has that effect on men and women alike. He holds a bottle of my now-favorite champagne with a helicopter-shaped balloon attached and she gives him a dazzling smile to send him on his way and proceeds to read the card out to me.

 _Ladies,_

 _Good luck in your new home._

 _Christian Grey_

Kate shakes her head in disapproval.

"Why can't he just write 'from Christian'? And what's with the weird helicopter balloon?"

"Charlie Tango."

"What?"

"Christian promised to take me to see José's show. We're probably going in his helicopter," I shrug.

Kate stares at me open-mouthed. I love these occasions, especially two in three days time—Katherine Kavanagh, silent and floored—these moments are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to revel in it.

"Of course the obscenely rich bastard has a helicopter. How could I forget?" Kate looks accusingly at me, but she's smiling, shaking her head in disbelief. "But why is Christian taking you? Is he still worried about José?"

"I figured he would be interested in taking Leila. Plus there's the whole José debacle, but it will eventually blow over."

She frowns.

"Are you going to be okay while I'm away?"

"Of course," I reassuringly answer. New city, no job . . . nut-job sister and hot-as-fuck-brother-in-law-that-I'm-secretly-fucking.

"How did he already know our address?" she frowns.

"Stalking is one of his specialties," I muse teasingly, "But in all seriousness, Christian had his team check the area out when he heard we were moving. He wanted to make sure we were safe."

Kate's brow knits further.

"Somehow I'm not surprised. He worries me sometimes, Ana. He's so protective of you. Just imagine if you were the one married to the man. I don't know how your sister deals with it. At least it's a good champagne and it's chilled."

Only Christian would send chilled champagne, or get his secretary to do it . . . or maybe Taylor. We open it then and there before finding our teacups—they were the last items to be packed.

"Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage." I grin at Kate, and we clink tea cups as a delicious chill runs down my spine at the memories it stirs.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

I wake early to a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night's sleep and lie awake staring at my pile of boxes. While I really should begin to unpack, I find that I'm too wound up with excitement. Today's the day.

Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly—as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me once we're finally alone. And of course, I have to sign that damned contract. _Or do I?_ I hear the ping of incoming mail from the open laptop near my bed.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: My Life in Numbers

Date: May 29 2011 08:04

To: Anastasia Steele

If you drive you'll need the new access code for the underground garage at Escala: 146963.

Park in bay five as per usual.

New Code for the elevator: 1880.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: An Excellent Vintage

Date: May 29 2011 08:08

To: Christian Grey

Yes, Sir. Understood.

Thank you for the champagne and the blow-up Charlie Tango, which is now tied to my bed.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Envy

Date: May 29 2011 08:11

To: Anastasia Steele

You're welcome.

Don't be late.

Lucky Charlie Tango.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I find myself rolling my eyes at his bossiness, but despite his dominating tone, his last line makes me smile. I head for the bathroom to get ready, wondering if Elliot made it back from the family sinner last night as I attempt to rein in my nerves.

 _If Grace requested just her children for dinner, would Leila have shown up anyway? Would he tell me if she did? Would anyone?_

Probably not.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

At precisely 12:55 p.m., I pull into the garage at _Escala_ and park in bay five. The Audi SUV and R8 are there, along with two smaller Audi SUVs . . . but it seems as if Leila's car is gone. _Hmm_. I check my mascara in the light-up mirror on my visor, dabbing my stress tears away from the corner of my eyes. Then, I reapply my Tender Heart lipstick before running my fingers through my hair. With a deep breath, I gather my things and climb out of my car.

In the infinity mirrors of the elevator, I check out my plum dress—well, Kate's plum dress. The last time I wore this, he wanted to peel it off me and that is most definitely the goal today.

If I'm honest, that's always the goal.

My body clenches at the thought and the feeling is just so exquisite, that I need to catch my breath. I'm also wearing the blue panties that Christian once had Taylor pick up for me after the awfully embarrassing night out at the bar with José.

Taylor stands at the double doors as I step out of the elevator.

"Good afternoon, Miss Steele," he says.

"How many times do I need to tell you to call me Ana?"

"Ana." He smiles. "Mr. Grey is expecting you."

 _I bet he is._

Christian is seated on the living room couch reading the Sunday paper. He glances up as Taylor directs me into the living area and for a moment, I think he might smile. The room is exactly as I remember it—it's been a few weeks since I've been here, but it feels so much longer. _Perhaps because to everyone else, it has been._ Christian looks calm, cool, and collected—actually, he looks divine as per usual. He's in a loose white linen shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. His copper hair is tousled and unkempt, and his molten eyes are studying me with a wicked gleam. He rises and strolls toward me, an amused but appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips.

 _There it is._

I stand immobilized at the entrance of the room, paralyzed by his ethereal beauty and the sweet anticipation of what's to come. The familiar charge between us is there, sparking a fire in my depths, drawing me to him like a moth to a flame.

"Hmm . . . that dress," he murmurs approvingly as he gazes down at me. "Welcome back, Miss Steele," he whispers and, clasping my chin, he leans down and gives me a gentle, light kiss on my lips. The touch of his lips to mine reverberates throughout my body causing my breath to hitch.

"Hi," I whisper as I flush.

"You're on time, my good girl. I like punctual. Come, Little One." He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. "I wanted to show you something," he says as we sit. He hands me the Seattle Times and I find that on page eight, there's a photograph of the two of us together at the graduation ceremony. They've cut Leila out. _Holy shit._ I check the caption.

 _Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele at the graduation ceremony at WSU Vancouver._

I laugh. "So I'm your 'friend' now."

"So it would appear. And it's in the newspaper, so it must be true." He smirks.

"What did she think of this?"

Christian's brow furrows as he stares down at the paper, "She wasn't pleased, but she can hardly blame either of us for it. Although she did demand I call the paper and have them correct the image."

"Did you?" I ask incredulously.

"No, I rather like this version. Though if she asks, I called and left a message. They have yet to return said call, I'm afraid," he smirks.

"How tragic."

Sitting beside me, his whole body is turned toward me, one of his legs tucked under the other. Reaching over, he tucks my hair behind my ear with his long index finger. My body comes alive, wanting and needing more of his experienced touch.

"So, Anastasia, you have a much better idea of what is going to occur, now that you're here in Seattle for good."

"Yes."

"And yet you've returned."

I nod shyly, suddenly feeling unsure, and his eyes blaze. He shakes his head as if he's struggling with the idea.

"Have you eaten?" he asks out of the blue.

 _Shit._

"No."

"Are you hungry?" He's really trying not to look annoyed.

"Not for food," I whisper, and his nostrils flare in reaction.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear. "You are as eager as ever, Miss Steele, and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But," He sits up. "You need to eat," he scolds me mildly. My heated blood cools at the sound of an accusation.

"What if we eat later?" I ask to distract us both.

"First we have a few things to talk about. What more can I say?" He shrugs.

"I thought we went over everything the other night?"

He gives me a don't-be-ridiculous look.

"I think we still need to have a talk. Don't you?" he says mildly. I nod sullenly. "Anastasia, my mother would like you to come to dinner this evening. I believe Elliot is asking Kate, too. I don't know how you feel about that considering how we're spending our day. It may feel a bit odd."

 _Odd? Why?_

"Are you ashamed of me because of what happened the other morning?" I can't keep the hurt out of my voice.

"Of course not." He rolls his eyes.

"Why is it odd then?"

"Because we're going to have to go from being one on one to individuals against a room of people who have no idea what's going on. Besides Elliot that is."

"Why are you allowed to roll your eyes, and I'm not?"

He blinks at me. "I wasn't aware that I was."

"Neither am I, usually," I snap.

Christian glares at me, speechless. Taylor appears in the doorway.

"Will you be taking your car today, sir?"

"Yes, I'll be driving. You're free this afternoon, Taylor."

Driving?

"Ready for some adventure?" he asks as he stands and holds out his hand to me.

"You're not giving me more gifts are you?" I gasp, shocked.

He laughs. "I'd give you the world if I could Anastasia, but I don't think you would approve."

I take his hand, and he pulls me up into his arms before he kisses me deeply. I clutch his arms, taken by surprise as his hand finds its way into my hair, holding my head, and then he pulls me against him, his forehead against mine.

"I'm so glad you're here," he whispers. "I can't wait to get you naked." His lips leave a trail of kisses down the side of my face and to the shell of my ear.

For a moment he buried the tip of his nose against my hair before nuzzling my ear, then he proceeds to bite down on the lobe gently. Pulling back, he once again rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes with his storm gray irises. His next words are of no surprise.

"But most of all, I can't wait to be buried deep inside of you, Little One."

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **I fought naps all day to get this out tonight. It's a little later than I would have liked. But nevertheless, here it is. Editing was quick, so forgive any mistakes.**

 **As you must have guessed, I'm still fighting a cold. And with chronic pain, fatigue, and migraines thrown in, I'm feeling a bit beat. Ironic huh?**

 **Anyways . . . feel free to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or join the group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces: h t t p : / / m . f a c e b o o k . c o m / g r o u p s / 2 1 5 8 4 7 9 2 7 4 4 3 2 3 2 4**

 **Recommended FanFiction:** Sweet Surrender by Madison Quinn

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	7. Chapter 5

**Reviews from Chapter 4:**

 **daytonalay:** I've always believed that Elliot is way smarter than people give him credit for. How else would he run Grey Construction? The same goes for Christian. This man knows what he's got when it comes to one Anastasia Steele. Dinner with the Grey family is sure to be fun. But first, some lemon. Thank you for the well wishes! I'm happy to report I'm feeling much better!

 **Diane2229:** Not sure where the confusion lies, but Ana and Christian we're technically together for only one week before he married Leila. That was June of 2008. It is now May of 2011 making it nearly 3 years since they began their affair. Hope that clears things up! Thank you for the well wishes!

 **zeeulove:** While I won't spoil the entire reason why no one interfered before he married Leila I will say this: Before his marriage to Leila, Christian lived his life just as he did before Ana in the original books. :)

 **Brennanite025:** Elliot has a heart made of gold :) Thank you for the well wishes! 

**Karen Kuliszewski2:** thank you very much! Ana certainly is not feeling that relationship and soon we'll get to see even more of the reasons why! Divorce? The ever-so-monogamous Christian Grey? Hmm . . . Not quite sure yet! 

**_And one more just because I can . . . and I love that everyone hates Leila without even really seeing her!_**

 **Luvdisney2007:** Previous chapter? Leila was in Seattle. But was she at Escala? I'm not sure. This time? Not at Escala. But exactly where? Only time will tell. She is part of the Sub Club after all . . . Trouble, trouble, trouble . . .

 **Song: Island by SVRCINA**

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The building we pull up to is tall and immaculate. I also note that it's not too far from GEH and that it's also not too far away from _Escala_. In other words, it's in just the right place.

After parking in the garage in one of the spaces labeled "Penthouse," we head towards a set of elevators and Christian presses the button for the lobby, taking us up.

As we exit the elevator I spot a tall, blonde, and immaculate woman at the desk, dressed in a royal-blue dress with cap sleeves. I'm reminded of the multiple blondes in Christian's office, as well as the botox-Barbie that is Mrs. Robinson.

"Mr. Grey." She greets before she shakes Christian's outstretched hand.

"Miss Kelley," Christian says, "Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice," Christian says.

"Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. I'm sure you're going to love the penthouse of _BluSteel_ and all of the services we offer. This must be your wife?" she asks, smiling at me.

"Actually," he says swiftly, "This is my sister-in-law, Miss Steele." She smiles, her eyes cool and assessing as Christian continues on. "Miss Steele will be welcoming some of GEH's clients in and out as they visit. It won't happen too often, but I wanted her to know a familiar face. It's likely you won't see much of them when they are here because their time will be spent at GEH, but we'll both stop in periodically."

We then shake hands, and on pure instinct, I know she's one of those women who doesn't tolerate fools. More than likely, Miss Kelley has put two and two together and knows exactly what Mr. Grey is up to with me at his side.

"Miss. Kelley, it's so nice to finally meet you, " I grin, giving her my best interview-worthy smile.

"You as well, Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is a wonderful employer, as is his brother. This building is immaculate and I'm sure you'll enjoy treating GEH's employees to our amenities." I like her immediately as she gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.

"Yes, well, we will be upstairs," he mutters, "Miss Steele has yet to see the penthouse. Have a good evening Miss Kelley."

Then he escorts me back over to the elevator where when we enter, he enters a code into a keypad.

At my curious gaze he wraps one arm firmly around my waist, holding me against his body as if he's afraid I'll disappear.

"It's 061408 if you're wondering," he murmurs with a small smile.

"The day we-"

"Yes, Anastasia. The day I claimed you as mine."

A shiver runs down my spine as we arrive at the penthouse and the doors open into a large immaculate hallway.

"Well, Miss Steele. What do you say I give you a tour of our new hideout?"

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

After a thorough and lengthy tour of the entire penthouse, Christian leads me into the art gallery that is Christians—no, our—living room.

"What do you think?" Christian asks as he picks up a white remote from the coffee table and turns on soft music.

"Fine, thank you. I believe Ethan will especially love it when I call him to catch up."

Christian's mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him as I purposely widen my eyes.

"Gotcha!"

He narrows his ash gray eyes, and I immediately stop laughing at my joke. As he stands before me, glowering, I realize he looks rather forbidding. _Oh, shit_. All the blood drains from my face as I imagine him putting me across his knee again and I feel my eyes widen even further in worry.

"Gotcha!" he says, and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him so we're chest to chest. _Interesting. It appears that when it's on his terms, it's okay to touch_. You are incorrigible, Miss Steele," he murmurs, staring down into my eyes as he weaves his fingers into my hair, holding me firmly in my rightful place before him. He kisses me, practically devouring me on the spot, and I cling on to his biceps for support.

"As much as I'd like to take you here and now, you need to eat and so do I." At my lustful gaze he smirks and shakes his head. "And I do mean for food, Little One. I don't want you passing out on me later," he murmurs against my lips.

"Is that all you want me for—my body?" I whisper, my voice sounding beyond aroused at the mere thought.

"That and your smart mouth," he breathes.

He kisses me once again, passionately coaxing my lips apart before he abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I'm baffled by his attitude today and every day really, but today . . . One minute we're joking and the next . . . He's just a walking God and I have to somehow recover my equilibrium and eat something like the mere mortal I am.

"What' music is playing?"

"'Villa Lobos,' an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn't it?"

"Yes," I murmur in total agreement.

The breakfast bar is laid for two, just as it was during our tour. Something Christian mentioned setting up for today.

The man who has it all has hired a special housekeeper so that he doesn't worry Mrs. Jones.

Christian takes a salad bowl from the fridge as I sit at the bar.

"Chicken caesar salad okay with you?"

 _Christian Grey knows me well._

"Yes, fine, thank you."

I watch as he moves gracefully through his—our—kitchen. He's so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn't like to be touched . . . so perhaps deep down he isn't as at ease as he first appears. Perhaps it's all a facade. _No man is an island_ , I muse—except perhaps Christian Grey.

But then, I realize he is not the island. I'm the island. The man standing before me—fetching a bottle of wine—is the ocean.

I cannot have him the way that I crave. He simply surrounds me, engulfing me in his dominance. It's as if the closer we become, the closer I am to drowning in his presence. It's like waves crashing upon the shore in a brewing storm. Sooner or later, it's going to reach land—and when it does, it's going to drag me under.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, pulling me from my reverie and causing me to flush in embarrassment.

"I was just watching the way you move."

He raises an eyebrow, amused but seemingly unfooled.

"And?" he says dryly.

I flush some more.

"You're very graceful."

"Why, thank you, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. "Chablis?"

"Please."

"Help yourself to salad," he says, his voice soft. "Now, care to tell me what you were thinking about so deeply?"

I stare intently at my plate as I fill it, contemplating on telling him the truth when he catches my chin and turns my face towards his.

"The truth, Anastasia. I want us to be honest with one another."

The word vomit spills unwillingly from my lips.

"I was thinking at first that you're like an island. Not letting anyone in too close. But then, " I pause and lick my lips, gauging his reaction. "Then I realized that in our situation, I'm the island. You're the ocean, pulling me in. You have the ability to completely destroy me. When this ends . . . I'll be the one damaged. Like in a tsunami."

"Ever the English Literature student," he says softly. "Oh, Ana," he murmurs. "I'll never walk away. So long as you stay." As if he's completely extinguished my fears he changes the subject by letting go of my chin. "Now, remind me—what method do you use?"

I am momentarily thrown by his question, and I shake my head, "What?"

"Birth Control."

"Well, I've currently got an IUD. I switched over not long after I was placed on the Mini pill."

He frowns.

"Did you not remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?"

"I was worried I would forget. I knew neither of us wanted me pregnant, so I decided on a two year IUD. I need to go have it replaced. I'll make an appointment somewhere and have it taken care of."

He waves his hand in an off-handed matter.

"I'll set you up with Dr. Greene. Problem solved."

"Isn't that Leila's doctor?" I ask, arching my brow.

"She's the best there is and I won't have you see anything less," he says simply.

"Do you not trust me?" I ask quietly.

"She's the best. Besides, with how busy you'll be interviewing, I don't want you to forget something so important."

"I'm sure you'll remind me," I murmur dryly.

He glances at me with amused condescension.

"I'll put an alarm on my calendar." He smirks. "Eat."

The Chicken Caesar salad is delicious. To my surprise, I'm famished, and for the first time since I've been with him, I finish my meal before he does. Along with the wine that is crisp, clean, and fruity.

"Eager as ever, Miss Steele?" he smiles down at my empty plate.

I look at him from beneath my lashes, the look I've perfected because it's just what he likes. _Innocent, demure, Anastasia Rose Steele._

"Yes," I whisper.

His breath hitches. And as he stares down at me, the atmosphere between us slowly shifts, evolving into something catastrophic. His look goes from a dark storm to smoldering ash. Suddenly, he stands, quickly closing the distance between us before he tugs me off the barstool and into his awaiting arms.

"Do you want to do this?" he breathes, looking down at me intently.

"I haven't signed anything," I quip.

"I know—but I'm breaking all the rules these days."

"Are you going to hit me?"

"In that sense? No. Never. I'm going to spank you and perhaps use a flogger or some other instrument upon you, but it's not to hurt you. I only want to give your skin that delicate pink blush I love so much. I don't want to punish you right now. If you'd caught me after I heard about your adventure with José, well, that would have been a different story. Right now, I want you screaming out my name as I make you come around my cock over and over again."

 _Can I handle this?_ I can't hide the horror on my face but deep down, my stomach is a flutter with a million butterflies. _The thing this man does to me just by talking is embarrassing._

"Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise, baby. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. I'm a Dominant. Your Dominant. So, it's very simple. However, after the other night I've come to accept the fact that you, yourself don't like pain. So, I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about our predicament."

He pulls me against him, and his erection presses into my lower stomach. Some part—a small part—a big part—of me knows that I should run for the hills, but I can't. It's more than the moth being drawn to the flame. Instead, I'm drawn to him on some deep, elemental level that I can't even begin to understand. His soul calls to mine like kryptonite.

"Did you reach any conclusions?" I whisper, my voice hoarse with untamed need.

"No, but right now, I just want to tie you up so I can fuck you senseless. I want you wrapped around my cock like you were in that coat closet the night of my wedding, Little One. I need you, Anastasia. I need you just as you need me. Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," I breathe as every inch of my body tightens in anticipation . . . _the Christian Grey effect._ It's a feeling I hope never ends.

"Good. Come." He takes my hand and, leaving all the dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, we head towards what is now _our_ Playroom.

My heart starts pounding, thundering as my blood heats. _This is it. I'm really going to do this. I'm stepping into our Playroom as his Submissive._ My head is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette across the dance floor. He opens the door to our playroom, standing back for me to walk through, and I am once more in an exact replica of the Red Room of Pain.

An exact replica, so that everything would be the same for the both us.

He had briefly mentioned Leila, worried that if he found himself back in the room with her, he would forget where something was if we changed anything at all. I had only agreed because really, that's all I could do.

It's the same. The smell of leather, citrus-scented polish, and the dark wood, a full-on sensual experience. My blood is heated—adrenaline mixed with lust and longing. It's a heady and potent cocktail to indulge in around my Dominant.

My Dominant . . . Christian's stance has changed completely, subtly altered, harder and crueler than I'm used to. He gazes down at me and his eyes are molten—heated, lustful . . . hypnotic. _Mine._

"When you're in here, you are completely mine," he breathes, each word slow and measured. "To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?"

His gaze is so intense that I practically melt beneath it. I nod, my mouth dry, my heart feeling as if it will combust as he keeps his eyes on mine.

"Take your shoes off," he orders softly.

I swallow, and rather clumsily,—the complete opposite of the poise I take pride in—I take them off. He bends and picks them up with grace and deposits them beside the door with a small smile.

"Good. I do not want you to hesitate when I ask you to do something. Now, I'm going to peel you out of this dress. Something I've wanted to do for quite some time, Little One.

Three years, and you still attempt to hide from me. I want you to be comfortable with your body, Anastasia. You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it. It _is_ a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day. Any man would be so lucky. Fortunately you belong to me. So from now on, I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nudity. Do you understand?"

"I—I—"

With two fingers he grips my chin, placing a swift but gentle kiss upon my lips.

"You have a beautiful body, Anastasia. You deserve to be admired and sculpted. But I'm a very selfish man and you are mine and mine alone. Now, I will tell you one more time. Whether you are before me or alone, I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nudity. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He leans over me, glaring.

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you mean that?" he snarls.

"Yes, Sir," I say breathlessly, feeling his words in the depths of my soul.

"Good. Now, lift your arms up over your head," he croons.

I do as instructed, and he reaches down and grabs the hem of the plum dress he so adores. Slowly, he pulls my dress up over my pale thighs, the slight curve of my hips, my flat abdomen, my breasts, my shoulders, and up over my head. He stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off of me for one moment until he places it on the large chest beside the door. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me like a hot iron.

"You're biting your lip," he breathes. "You know what that does to me, Little One," he adds darkly. "Turn around."

I turn immediately, with no hesitation on my part. He unclasps my bra and then, taking both straps, he slowly pulls it down my arms. As he slides my bra off he brushes my skin with the tips of his nails, eliciting shivers down my spine and waking every nerve in my body. His body heat radiates off his skin, warming every inch of my skin as he stands behind me.

With ease, he pulls my hair so that it's all hanging down my back, tickling my already over-sensitized and heated skin.

With experienced fingers he grasps a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, and angles my head to one side. Then he runs his nose down my exposed neck, tickling my skin as he inhales all the way, then back up to my ear, where he gently nips at my earlobe. At the delicate touch, my muscles clench, he's hardly touched me, but I want every inch of him as he belongs to me and I to him.

"You smell as divine as ever, Anastasia," he whispers as he places a soft kiss beneath my ear, his heated breath sending a shiver down my spine.

I moan from the delicious sensation but just as quickly he scolds me.

"Quiet," he breathes. "Don't make a sound."

Pulling my hair behind me, as he often does, he starts braiding it in one large braid, his fingers fast and deft as he works. He ties it with an unseen hair tie when he's finished and gives it a quick tug so I'm forced back against him. Skin to skin.

"I like your hair braided in here," he whispers.

 _Here I had thought he always liked my hair braided._

He quickly releases my hair and I feel him take a step back.

"Turn around," he orders.

I do as I'm told, my breathing shallow, fear and longing creating an intoxicating mix.

"When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just in your panties and nothing else. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He glowers at me.

"Yes, Sir."

A trace of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

"Good girl." His eyes burn into mine. "When I tell you to come in here, I expect you to kneel over there." He points to a spot on the ground right beside the door. "Do it now."

I blink, processing his words, then turn and rather clumsily kneel as directed, before remembering a previous order to sit back on my heels. Out of habit, I sit back.

"Good girl, Anastasia. Now, like always, place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees. Wider. Wider. Perfect. Look down at the floor."

He walks over to me, and I can see his feet and shins in my field of vision. When did he take off his shoes? He reaches down and grasps my braid again, then pulls my head back so I am looking up at him. It's only just not painful and I relish in the exquisite feeling of being _his_.

"Will you remember this position from now on, Anastasia?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Stay here, don't move."

Then, just like that, he's gone.

I'm on my knees, waiting and waiting for him to return. Briefly, I wonder where he's gone off to. Time shifts. I have no idea just how long he leaves me like this. At first it seems to be a few minutes, maybe five or ten? Then it seems to become never ending . . . fifteen, twenty . . . My breathing becomes shallow as the anticipation begins to devour me from the inside out.

And suddenly he's back—and all at once I'm calm and possibly more excited than I've ever been before. Opening my eyes, I can see his feet as I kneel. He's changed his jeans into a pair I've never seen before. These are older, ripped, soft, and over-washed. _Holy shit. Why does a pair of jeans have to make him look so hot? It's simply not fair that a man so delectable can simply breathe and become even better looking._ He shifts and shuts the door before he hangs something on the back.

"Good girl, Anastasia. You look absolutely stunning like that. Well done. Stand up."

I stand, keeping my face down.

"You may look at me."

I peek up at him, and he's staring at me intently, assessing my every move, but his molten eyes soften as they meet mine. I take note that he's taken off his shirt. Something he only does when he's going to restrain my hands. Then I notice that the top button of his jeans is undone, showing that underneath the jeans he's completely bare of clothing.

"I'm going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand."

I give him my hand and he turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with a riding crop I hadn't noticed in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise hardly registers. Even more astonishing—it doesn't hurt. The only after effect is just a slight ringing sting. Like the bite of a bee.

"How does that feel?" he asks.

I blink at him, confused and furrow my brow.

"Answer me."

"Okay." I frown.

"Don't frown."

I blink and try to look impassive.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," I blush.

"This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I murmur, feeling uncertain at his reassurance.

"I mean it," he says.

My breathing is shallow, and as if knowing exactly what I'm thinking he lifts his right hand and he shows me the crop. _Brown plaited leather._ My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they're alight with intense fire and a trace of amusement to go along with his devil-may-care grin.

"We aim to please, Miss Steele," he murmurs. "Come, Little One." He takes my elbow and moves me so I'm standing beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs.

"As we've discussed, this grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid."

I glance up to see that it's much like a subway map.

"We're going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we'll end up on the wall over there." He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.

"Put your hands above your head."

I oblige immediately, feeling for a moment like I'm just a casual observer of events as they unfold around me. Every moment in this room—in his presence—is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It's the scariest and most enthralling thing I've ever done next to giving myself to the man before me. I gave myself to him like a gift and like I did then, I'm entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear, knowing in my heart Christian would never purposely harm me. If anything, he does everything in his power to make sure I never hurt a hair on my head.

He stands as close as possible as he fastens the cuffs so I'm staring straight at his chest. Today, he smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, that drags me back into the moment. I very much want to run my nose along his chest like in bed the other morning. _If only I could lean forward . . . it would be worth the spanking, I think._

He steps back and gazes at me, his expression hooded and carnal as I am helpless, my hands tied above my head and useless. But just by looking at his lovely face, reading his need and longing for me, for my body, I can feel the dampness pool between my legs. Slowly, he walks around me.

"You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I quite like that."

Standing in front of me again, he hooks his fingers into the lace of my panties and, peels them down my legs, stripping them from me slowly, agonizingly so, so that he ends up kneeling in front of me. Not taking his steel gray eyes off of mine, he scrunches my lace panties up in his hand, holds them up to his nose, and inhales deeply. _Holy fuck._ It doesn't matter how many times he does it, it has the same effect each time. He grins wickedly at me and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans.

Uncoiling himself from the floor, rising with ease, he points the end of the riding crop at my navel, leisurely circling it against the soft snow-white skin—tantalizingly teasing me. At the soft touch of the leather, I quiver and gasp. So he walks around me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my unmarked body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind . . . right up against my wet sex. I cry out in surprise as all my nerve endings stand to attention and I pull against the leather restraints. The sting of the crop runs through me, and it's the sweetest, strangest, hedonistic feeling.

 _I am his._

"Quiet," he whispers as he walks around me again, the crop slightly higher around the middle of my body. This time when he flicks it against me in the same place, I'm anticipating the bite. My body convulses at the sweet, sting and the only sound I make is that of a small gasp of pleasure.

As he makes his way around me, he flicks it again, this time hitting my hardened nipple, and I throw my head back as my nerve endings sing. He hits the other . . . a brief, swift, sweet chastisement. My nipples harden further and elongate from the sweet assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs with renewed interest.

"Does that feel good?" he breathes.

"Yes."

He hits me again across my bottom and this time around, the crop stings with intent.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir," I whimper.

He comes to a stop in front of me, but I can no longer see him. I keep my eyes are closed as I try to absorb the myriad of sensations coursing through every nerve in my wanting body. Ever so slowly, he rains small, biting licks of the crop down my belly, heading south. I know where this is leading, and I try to psyche myself up for it—but when he hits my clitoris, I can't help but cry out loudly.

"Oh . . . _please!_ " I groan and all but beg.

"Quiet," he orders, and he hits me again on my behind.

Even after all of our time together, I did not expect it to be like this . . . I am utterly and completely lost. Lost as the island in a sea of sensation and Christian. And suddenly, he's dragging the crop against my sex, over my smoothed mound, down through my folds.

"See how wet you are for this, Anastasia? Open your eyes and your mouth."

I do as I'm told, completely seduced by his voice. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, just like my dream _. Holy_ _fuck_

"See how good you taste. See why I love your sweet little cunt so much. Suck. Suck hard, baby."

My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock with his. I can taste the rich leather and the saltiness of my arousal and as I hum with pleasure, his eyes are blazing. Christian Grey is in his element.

 _I am his._

He pulls the tip from my mouth and stands forward so he can grab me before kissing me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls my body against his. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch him, but I can't, because my hands hang uselessly above me. Right where he wants them. Right where they belong.

"Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine," he breathes. "Shall I make you come?"

"Please," I beg.

The crop bites just one of my cheeks.

"Please, what?"

"Please, Sir," I whimper.

He smiles at me, triumphant with pleasure and pure domination. He knows that he can control every move my body makes.

"With this?" He holds the crop up so I can see it.

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you sure?" He looks sternly at me.

"Yes, please, Sir," I beg him desperately.

Grinning like a fool he says, "Close your eyes."

I shut the red room out, him out . . . the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the soft leather crop against my abdomen once more. Moving down, he leaves soft small licks against my swollen bud, once, twice, three times, again and again, until finally, I arrive at the tipping point—I can take no more—and I come, gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly against his hard body.

His strong arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly from his ministrations. I dissolve into a puddle in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I'm mewling and whimpering as the aftershocks of my orgasm consume me—mind, body, and soul. He lifts me, and then suddenly we're moving, my arms still tethered above my head.

 _I am his._

As soon as I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back, he's sliding down the zipper on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while he dutifully slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me against his body once again.

"Lift your legs, baby, wrap them around me," He orders gruffly.

I feel weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions himself beneath me. With one thrust, he's inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear and all of his dirty, shameful words. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me and it's deeper than ever before. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat as he mutters the words that set me off. But I can't think, I can't even hear as I feel my body tense again as I come upon the brink . . . _not again_ . . . I don't think my body can withstand another.

My body betrays me and suddenly I have no choice. With an inevitability that's all too familiar, I let go and come again, and it's sweet and agonizingly intense. As I lose all sense of self, Christian follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and holding me hard and close as he does, leaving marks upon my skin.

Then, he pulls out of me swiftly and sets me down against the cross, his body supporting mine. Unbuckling the cuffs with swift efficiency, he frees my hands, and we both sink to the floor.

Pulling me into his lap, he cradles me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I'd beg to touch him, but in the moment, I don't. As I shift in his lap, I belatedly realize he's still wearing his jeans.

"Well done, baby," he murmurs. "Did that hurt?"

"No," I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. _Why am I so tired?_ _It's normal for Christian and I to spend hours upon hours in bed when given the chance. Why am I already spent?_

"Did you expect it to?" he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face.

"Yes."

"You see, most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia." He pauses. "Would you do it again?"

I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain . . . _Again? Now?_

"Yes." My voice is a soft hum.

He hugs me tightly.

"Good. So would I," he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my head.

 _I am his._

"And I haven't finished with you yet."

 _Not finished with me yet. Holy fuck. There's no way I can do anymore._ I am utterly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to fall asleep right where I am. I'm leaning against his chest, my eyes are closed, and he's wrapped around me—arms and legs cocooned—and I feel . . . safe—for the first time since I was a young teenager—and oh so comfortable. _Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream in his arms? Just for a moment?_ My mouth quirks up at the silly thought, and turning my face into Christian's chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle him, but immediately he tenses . . . _oh shit._ Hesitantly, I open my eyes and glance up at him to find that he's staring down at me with a look of mirth.

"Don't," he breathes in warning.

I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I very much want to kiss him and for the hundredth time, I take notice of the random and faint small, round scars dotted around his chest. _Chicken pox? Measles? Elena fucking Lincoln?_ I think absently.

"Kneel by the door," he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effectively releasing me from his embrace. No longer warm and welcoming, the temperature of his voice has dropped several degrees. Pure Dominant Christian is back in the room.

I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel as instructed. His sudden mood swing has me shaking and on top of the exhaustion, I'm monumentally confused. In such a short amount of time, I found gratification in this room. However, I never could have prepared myself for just how exhausting it all would be. My limbs feel heavy, but I am deliciously sated in ways I would have previously thought impossible.

Christian is moving about in the periphery of my vision and as I wait, my eyes begin to droop.

"Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?"

I jump awake at the sound of his dry tone and find Christian standing in front of me, his arms crossed, as he glares down at me. _Oh, shit_. I've been caught napping—this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up at him.

"Stand up," he orders.

I climb wearily to my feet as he continues to stare at me, then his mouth quirks up.

"You're shattered, aren't you?"

I nod shyly, flushing under his intense scrutiny.

"Stamina, Miss Steele." He narrows his eyes at me. "I haven't had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you're praying."

I blink at him. _Praying for you to go easy on me._ I withhold my sass and do as I'm told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. _Holy hell_. My eyes fly to his.

"Look familiar?" he asks, unable to conceal his smile.

The plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton's all that time ago . . . Specifically, two weeks _before_ I made my move during his Bachelor party. He had made a surprise visit to Clayton's and he had purchased a few items that at the time, had no meaning to me at all. It all becomes clear. I stare up at him as adrenaline courses through my body. _Okay—this has got my attention—I'm awake now_.

"I have scissors here." He holds them up for me to see. "I can cut you out of this in a moment."

I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh. It's sore, but if I relax my wrists they're fine—the tie is not cutting into my skin.

"Come." He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner, unlike the bed in the Red Room of Pain at Escala. He's made a slight change just for me.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, "I want more, Little One—much, much more." My heart starts pounding again at the sound of his words. "But I'll make this quick. You're tired. Hold on to the post," he says.

I frown in disappointment, wishing we were going to lay on the now soft looking bed as I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.

"Lower," he orders. "Good. Don't let go. If you do, I'll spank your delectable Little ass. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."

He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I'm bending forward as I hold the post.

"Don't let go, Anastasia," he warns. "I'm going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?"

"Yes," I quip.

He smacks me across my behind with his hand and I relish the sharp sting.

"Yes, Sir," I add cheekily.

"Part your legs." He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side. "That's better. After this, I'll let you sleep."

 _Sleep?_ I'm practically salivating. I'm definitely not thinking of sleep now. In fact, it's the furthest thing from my mind.

He reaches up and gently strokes my back.

"You have such beautiful, delicate skin, Anastasia," he breathes as he bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle featherlight kisses. At the same time, his hands move around to my front, palming my breasts, and as he does, he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs on them gently.

I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive for him once more as I arch my back in pleasure under his ministrations.

He gently bites and sucks at the skin around my hipbones as he tugs at my hardened nipples, causing my hands to involuntarily tighten on the exquisitely carved post. Suddenly, his hands disappear from my skin, and I hear the familiar tear of foil, as he kicks off his jeans.

"You have such a captivating, sexy little ass, Anastasia Steele. What I'd like to do to it." His hands smooth and hold each of my cheeks, then his fingers glide down, and he slips two fingers inside of me.

"Such a wet, tight little pussy. You never disappoint, Miss Steele," he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. "Hold tight . . . this is going to be quick, baby."

He grabs my hips and positions himself, as I brace myself against the post. Then he reaches over me and grabs my braid near the end and winds it around his wrist to the nape of my neck, holding my head in place. Very slowly he eases into me, pulling my hair at the same time . . . and he leaves me feeling so full. He eases out of me slowly, and his other hand grabs my hip, holding tight, before he again slams into me, jolting me forward and into the bed.

"Hold on, Anastasia!" he shouts through clenched teeth.

I grip the post harder and push back against him as he continues his merciless onslaught, again and again, his fingers digging into the skin of my hip, bruising the delicate skin. My arms ache, my legs feel like jello, my scalp is tingling from the way he's tugging my hair . . . and it's all leading to a delicious pull deep inside me. For the first time ever, I fear my orgasm because I know that if I come . . . I'll collapse.

Christian continues to move roughly against me, in me, his breathing harsh.

"Your tight little cunt feels so damn good," he moans as he thrusts. My body tenses up and suddenly, Christian stills, slamming into me as deep as he can go.

 _I am his._

"Come on, Ana, give it to me," he groans, and my name on his lips sends me spiraling over the edge as my body is overcome by the sensation of my sweet, sweet release, and then I'm completely and utterly mindless.

 _I. Am. His._

When sense returns, I'm lying on him. Somehow he's lowered us to the floor, and I'm lying on top of him, my back to his front, and I'm staring at the ceiling, all postcoital, glowing and utterly and completely shattered. _Oh . . . the carabiners,_ I think absently—I'd forgotten about those. _I wonder if her could plan a whole weekend away of put them to use?_ Christian nuzzles my ear.

"Hold up your hands," he says softly.

My arms feel like they're made of lead, but I hold them up as his wish is my command. He wields the scissors and passes one blade under the plastic.

"I declare this Ana open," he breathes and cuts the plastic.

I giggle and rub my wrists as they're freed and I feel his grin against my skin as he takes over the job.

"That is such a lovely sound," he says wistfully. He sits up suddenly, taking me with him so that I'm once more sitting in his lap. "That's my fault," he says and shifts me so that he can rub my shoulders and arms. Gently he begins to massage some of the life back into my limbs.

 _Huh?_

I glance up at him behind me, trying to understand what he means.

"That you don't giggle more often."

"I'm not a great giggler," I mumble sleepily.

"Oh, but when it happens, Miss Steele, 'tis a wonder and joy to behold."

"Very flowery, Mr. Grey," I mutter, trying to keep my eyes open.

His eyes soften to a foggy gray, and he smiles.

"I'd say you're thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep."

"That wasn't flowery at all," I grumble playfully.

He grins and gently lifts me off him and stands, gloriously naked. I wish momentarily that I were more awake to really appreciate him. Picking up his jeans, he slides them back on, commando.

"Don't want to frighten the new security," he mutters.

 _Hmm . . . I wonder if they know what a kinky bastard he is_

He leans down to help me to my feet and leads me to the door, on the back of which hangs a gray waffle robe. He patiently dresses me as if I'm a small child as I don't have the strength to lift my arms. When I'm covered and respectable, he leans down and kisses me gently, his mouth quirks up in a smile.

"Bed," he says.

 _Oh . . . no . . ._

At my alarmed expression, he chuckles deeply.

"For sleep," he adds reassuringly. "Although, I am pleased that your mind is as dirty as mine," he hums.

Suddenly, he scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to the room down the corridor where earlier today he had shown me what is technically our bedroom. _No sub room for Anastasia Rose Steele. No office couch, either._ My head drops against his chest. I am exhausted and I can't seem to remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down and, even more surprisingly, climbs in beside me and holds me close.

"Sleep now, gorgeous girl," he whispers, and he kisses my hair.

And before I can make a scathing comment, I'm sound asleep.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **Thank you all for the kind messages and reviews of praise and well wishes. I'm not 100% but I'm feeling much better!**

 **Feel free to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or join the group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more. Just copy the link into a URL bar and remove the spaces:** h t t p : / / m. f a c e b o o k . c o m / g r o u p s / 2 1 5 8 4 7 9 2 7 4 4 3 2 3 2 4

 **Recommended FanFiction:** Falling Undercover by Steele.Hearts33

 **This one is a must read before it's pulled for publishing!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	8. Chapter 6

Reviews from Chapter 5:

 **motherbeatrice:** oh, but what will the true payment be?

 **daytonalay:** rest assured, Ana has her heart guarded well. But then, so does our dear Fifty. Thank you for reading and all the continued support!

 **SaveraCG:** Both the Bachelor party and wedding happened in June of 2008. It is currently May of 2011 in this story, making it a nearly three year time jump.

 **cwalk74:** In this chapter we will see just a few of the multitudes of ways that Christian truly takes care of Ana. Perhaps Anas recurring mantra of "I am his," is her more. As we will learn, Leila is capable of many things.

 **Song:** _I Know You_ by Skylar Grey 

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Soft lips brush across my temple, leaving ever so sweet and tender kisses in their wake. The playful submissive within wants to respond to my Doms sweet caress, but mostly I want to stay sleeping. To prove my point, I moan and burrow into my nest of blankets.

"Little one, it's time to wake up." Christian's voice is soft as his lips brush up against the curve of my ear.

"No," I moan.

"We have to leave in about half an hour for dinner."

His tone shows amusement so I open my eyes ever so reluctantly to find that it's dusk. Christian is leaning over me, gazing down at me intently with eyes of mercury.

"Come on, sleepyhead. It's time to get up." He stoops down and kisses the very tip of my nose. "I've brought you your favorite drink. I'll be in the living room waiting. Don't go back to sleep, or you'll be in trouble Little One," he threatens mildly. He kisses me briefly and exits, leaving me blinking sleep from my eyes in the somber room.

As I stretch out my body I find that I'm feeling refreshed after my nap—but still incredibly nervous for dinner.

 _The man has just spent the better part of the afternoon working me over with a riding crop and trussing me up with a cable tie that I sold him_ —and to think that I have face not only his parents and Mia, but Leila too. Then of course, there's Kate and Elliot.

It's going to be the first time Christian and I face him after the other morning—at least he'll be there for support.

Christian's demands for a trainer don't seem so outlandish as I roll my stiff shoulders. In fact, it's mandatory if I have any hope of keeping up with him. It's almost ironic if you think about the fact that Leila offered to be "gym buddies" once I moved to Seattle.

 _Perhaps I'll take Leila up on her previous offer of weekly yoga and spin-cycle classes_ , I smirk in satisfaction at the thought.

That way I can get bonus points with the family for spending time with my dear older sister and then I can sleep with her husband in my spare time. _It's like a two-for-one special._

I slowly climb out of bed and note that my dress is hanging on the outside of the closet door and while my bra is laying draped across the chair my panties are mysteriously missing.

I check beneath the chair only to find nothing. Then I remember—he stashed them away in the pocket of his jeans. _Bastard_. It's a game we've played before, but usually in small settings. Never something as outlandish as a family dinner.

I steal into the bathroom, feeling only slightly bewildered by my lack of panties for the evening.

While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he's done this on purpose. He wants to embarrass me and force me to ask for my panties back, and he'll either say yes or no. _Two can play that game._ I won't give him the satisfaction of asking for them back. It's a game we've played and while the situation is new, I'm willing to go and face our family dinner sans panties. The submission aspect will drive him crazy.

Once back in the bedroom, I stare at my outfit in disdain. Yes, I had chosen a dress that Christian loved—but it wasn't mine. Once I got a secure job, a shopping trip would be in order.

Although I would be comfortable sans bra, I choose to put it on. Not wearing it would only drive Christian crazy once he discovered it wasn't on. _Plus the added risk of not wearing it in front of the Greys_ . . . I shudder at the thought of what that could provoke.

After slipping into my dress and shoes, I take a long sip of the pale pink concoction that Christians left for me to drink. The mix of cranberry juice and sparkling water tastes delicious and quenches my thirst after the long, vigorous afternoon.

Next, I remove the braid from my hair and simply choose to run my fingers through the thick waves, rather than brushing it out to wreak havoc.

Returning to the bathroom, I look in the mirror to find that my cheeks are slightly flushed and my normally pale blue eyes are a stunning steel blue. Feeling slightly smug over the idea of seeing Leila, I head towards the living room with fifteen minutes to spare.

Christian stands before the panoramic window, wearing the gray flannel pants that I love—the ones that hang perfectly off of his hips—and of course, a white linen shirt. The man never ventures past his favorites: black, white, and gray.

Frank Sinatra sings softly throughout the room and as if on cue Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly and under his heated stare, I feel my already flushed cheeks turn crimson.

"Hi," I say softly, and my minx-like smile meets his.

"Hi," he says. "How are you feeling?" His eyes are alight with amusement as he stares down at me.

"Good, thanks. You?"

"I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele."

He seems to be waiting patiently for me to say something so instead of giving him the gratification he so seeks, I plaster on my best smile and flutter my eyelashes.

"Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan."

He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.

"Eclectic taste, Miss Steele," he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther until he's standing in front of me. His slate gaze is so intense, that it steals my breath away.

Frank starts crooning . . . an old song, "Witchcraft," one of Ray's favorites. Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel his electric touch all the way to the tips of my toes.

"Dance with me," he murmurs, his voice heavy with underlying lust.

Taking the remote out of his pocket, he turns up the volume and graciously holds his hand out to me. When I lift my eyes to meet his, I find his longing gray gaze full of promise and underlying humor. The man is completely beguiling, and I'm simply bewitched by him. I place my hand in his and he lazily grins down at me as he pulls me into his body, his arms curling around my waist in a warm embrace.

I put my free hand on his shoulder—in the one safe space I know—and grin up at him, caught up in his irresistibly, playful mood. He sways once, then we're dancing across the vast space. There is no denying that the man can move. We cover the floor, from the edge of the living room to the window and back again, spinning and whirling in time to the music. All the while, he makes it effortless for me to follow along.

We glide around the table, past the piano, over to the sitting area, and back past the living room before we glide backward and across the front by the glass wall, the Seattle sky twinkling outside and below, a dark and supernatural mural to our dance. I can't but laugh out loud at the situation which only calls for him to grin down at me as the song comes to a close.

"There's no nicer witch than you," he murmurs, then kisses me sweetly. "Well, that's brought a lovely rose blush to your cheeks, Little One. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and face the wrath that is the Grey family?"

"You're welcome, and yes, I can hardly wait," I answer sassily.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Oh yes," I respond sweetly.

"Are you sure?"

I nod as nonchalantly as I can manage under his intense scrutiny. At first, I worry that I've read the situation wrong. _Does he not want me to want to play the game?_ I worry that by not asking for my panties, I've just asked for punishment. When his face splits into a huge grin and he shakes his head in delight, I see that all is okay. He's acknowledged my silent acceptance to his game—just as I understood his unspoken question.

"Okay. If that's the way you want to play it, Miss Steele then consider it game on."

He grabs my hand, collects his jacket of a nearby chair, and leads me to the elevator.

I peek up at him once we're in the elevator to find a trace of a smile gracing his lovely lips and basic instinct tells me that it's at my expense. Of course, the joke _is_ on me. What was I thinking? I'm going to see his wife—my own sister—and I'm not wearing any underwear.

In the relative safe environment of our apartment, it seemed like a risky but amusing, idea. Now, I'm ready to panic.

He peers down at me with his eyes hooded, and it's there, the charge of electricity building between us. The amused look disappears from his face and his expression clouds and his eyes darken into a storm of pure, unadulterated lust.

The charge is broken the very moment the elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.

I snort at the motion. _Who's he kidding? He's no gentleman. The bastard has my panties!_

Taylor sits waiting in one of the parking spots in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb inside as elegantly as I can so that I don't unintentionally give Taylor a show. I'm grateful that the plum dress clings to the skin at the top of my knees—and just about everywhere else.

Both of us stay quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor's consistent presence in the front. As we head up Interstate 5, Christian's mood seems to shift, the humor he's held throughout the day slowly dissipating. He's brooding, staring out the window like a petulant teenager, and I can practically feel him slipping away from my grasp. It's one of those moments that make me wish things could be normal. It makes me wish that he'd never met Leila. _Or that that I'd never stepped in._

Realizing that I have to somehow break the tense silence, I wrack my brain for an idea.

 _What is he thinking? I can't outright ask him. No, I need something else . . ._

"What about my car?" I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his gray eyes indecipherable beneath the intermittent glow of the passing street lamps.

"I had it taken back to your apartment." he replies softly.

My heart sinks, as I think about the chance of Leila seeing it and Kate wondering where I am.

"What if they ask why I'm with you?" I murmur reluctantly.

"Leila was out with Mia all afternoon, shopping. When I asked Elliot about keeping Kate busy he said that Mia had asked her to come along for the afternoon. She was to be dropped off at Elliot's when they finished. He's kept her preoccupied."

"Leila took Mia shopping?" I ask suspiciously.

"Actually, it was the other way around. I may have mentioned to Mia that Leila needed some shopping therapy. She's been . . . not Leila lately. I can't really explain it."

My scalp pickles and my stomach turns uneasily. _Did she suspect he was having an affair? Did she suddenly miss the lifestyle she had thrown aside so she could convince Christian that what they had ran deeper than the playroom? Or was it something else?_

She has such a fun, playful side until you cross her.

I grimace involuntarily as I recall the time she had caught her boyfriend ramming his tongue down my throat as he attempted to stick his hand down my pants.

I had been grateful when she had shown her face. But she hadn't believed a word I said. Instead she had risked my life with ash and ember.

Of course, as I think about the possibilities, I conclude that perhaps she just misses the time spent in the Red Room of Pain. I rub my wrists reflexively— _thin strips of plastic will do that to a girl._

She shared all of that with him too—or tarnished it, depending on one's point of view. Or perhaps, that was all Mrs. Robinson's doing. Of course, it's possible he would have found his way there any way in spite of either of their actions.

I realize, in that moment, that I hate both of them with a burning passion. I can only hope that I'm never confronted about our affair because I will not be responsible for my actions if I am. I'll tell it all to his parents. _Punishment be damned_. I can't remember ever feeling this passionately about anyone, especially someone that I'm unfortunately related to by blood.

Gazing unseeing out the window, I nurse my irrational anger and jealousy towards Leila. I couldn't walk into the Grey's home sending death glared to my own flesh and blood.

Taking a deep breath, I let my mind drift back to the afternoon. Given what I understand of his past before me, I think he's been too easy on me. _Would I do it again?_ I can't even pretend to put up an argument against that. Of course, I would, since he's asked me—as long as he didn't hurt me and if it's the only way to be with him.

That's the bottom line. I want to be with him. I want Christian Grey to be mine and mine only. Damn, Leila and her mere existence.

A part of me deep, deep down, believes that if Leila hadn't managed to trick him, we would have found our way into each other's lives.

"Don't," he murmurs.

I frown and turn to look at him.

"Don't what?" I ask, because this time the chastisement has come without touching him.

"Overthink things, Anastasia." Reaching out, he grasps my hand, draws it up to his lips, and kisses my knuckles gently. "I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you, Little One."

And suddenly, we're back on the same plane again. I blink up at him and smile shyly as he heatedly meets my gaze. The man is confusing as he is intimidating but I can't help but ask a question that's been bugging me.

"Why did you use a cable tie?"

He grins at me.

"It's quick, it's easy, and it's something different for you to feel and experience. I know they're quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device." He smiles at me mildly. "Very effective at keeping you in your place. Besides, I thought it was about time I admitted to wanting you since before _our_ beginning."

I flush and glance nervously at Taylor, who remains impassive, eyes on the road.

 _What am I even supposed to say to that?_

Christian shrugs innocently as if he can read my inner thoughts.

"All part of my world, Anastasia." He squeezes my hand and let's go, staring out the window again.

His world, indeed, and I want to belong, but on his terms? _I just don't know._

The beguiling man hasn't mentioned that damned contract and I have to wonder if he's having second thoughts after being found by Elliot. Of course, if that was the case, he never would have brought me to the apartment and spent the entire afternoon with me.

 _Right?_

I stare out the window and find that the landscape around us has changed. We're crossing one of the bridges, surrounded by inky darkness. The somber night reflects my introspective mood, closing in on my soul as if I'm suffocating. The sudden pressure of what I'm about to face . . .

I glance briefly at Christian to see if he's at all worried and I find that he's staring at me with a furrowed brow of concern.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks.

I sigh and frown in response.

"That bad, huh?" he says.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," I whisper.

His head tilts to the side as he smirks. "Ditto, baby," he says as Taylor whisks us into the night toward Bellevue.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

It is just before eight when the Audi turns into the driveway of the colonial-style mansion. Despite having seen it dozens upon dozens of times, it's breathtaking, even down to the roses around the door.

"Are you ready for this?" Christian asks as Taylor pulls up outside the impressive front door.

"I've never faced all of them like this before."

"It's mom and dad. They adore you. Now, are you ready for this?"

I hesitantly nod, and he gives my hand another reassuring squeeze.

"First for me, too," he whispers, then he smiles at me wickedly before he speaks his next teasing words. "Bet you wish you were wearing your panties right now."

I find myself flushing over the fact that I've forgotten about my missing panties through my worry about Leila. Fortunately, Taylor has climbed out of the car and is opening my door so he can't hear our exchange. I scowl at Christian, who broadly grins as I turn and climb out of the car.

The one and only Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey is on the doorstep waiting for us. She looks elegantly sophisticated in a pale blue silk dress tonight. Behind her stands Mr. Grey, tall, blond, and as handsome in his own way as Christian.

"Anastasia, you've met my mother, Grace. This is my dad, Carrick," Christian teases.

"Oh, stop!" I laugh as Carrick does.

"The pleasure is all mine, as always, Anastasia."

I find myself responding with ease, "Hello, Carrick."

His blue eyes are soft and gentle.

"Ana, how lovely to see you again." Grace wraps me in a warm hug. "Come in, my dear."

"Is she here?" I hear a screech from within the house and I glance nervously at Christian in response.

"That will be Mia, she's missed you," he says almost irritably, but not quite.

There's an undercurrent of affection in his words, the way his voice grows softer and his eyes crinkle as he mentions her name. Christian has always adored her. It's a sweet compromise to his usual cold behavior.

She comes barreling down the hall, raven haired, tall, and curvaceous just before she hugs me tight.

"Ana! I've missed you!"

I can't help but smile at her boundless enthusiasm.

"Mia, I've missed you too," I murmur as she drags me into the large vestibule. It's all dark wood floors and antique rugs with the sweeping staircase to the second floor.

"We were wondering when you'd get here. Did you drive together?" Mia asks, dark eyes bright with excitement.

I glimpse over to Christian rolling his eyes, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He narrows his eyes at me.

"Mia, calm down," Grace admonishes softly. "Hello, darling," she says as she kisses Christian on both cheeks. He smiles down at her warmly and then shakes hands with his father.

We all turn and head into the living room as Mia has not let go of my hand. The room is spacious as always, tastefully furnished in creams, browns, and pale blues—comfortable, understated, and very stylish. Kate and Elliot are cuddled together on a couch, clutching champagne flutes. Kate bounces up to embrace me, and Mia finally releases my hand.

"Hi, Ana!" She beams. "Christian." She nods curtly to him.

"Kate." He is as equally formal with her, even after three years.

I frown at their exchange until Elliot grasps me in an overly enthusiastic hug. _What is this, Hug Ana Week?_ This dazzling display of affection—I'm just not used to it. Christian stands at my side, cautiously wrapping his arm around me. Placing his hand on my hip, he spreads out his fingers and pulls me close as he leans in.

"Remember, you can drink since you're not driving."

I nod as I notice Elliot is the only one staring at us. It's unnerving.

"Drinks?" Carrick asks. "Prosecco?"

"Please," Christian and I speak in unison.

 _Oh . . . this is beyond weird._ Mia claps her hands.

"You're even saying the same things. And here Leila was worried you weren't going to get along with your assertive personalities. I'll go get her." She scoots out of the room.

I flush scarlet and seeing Kate sitting with Elliot, it occurs to me suddenly that there is only one reason Christian insisted on driving me here tonight.

Elliot knows the truth and he needs Elliot to think he's taking care of me—because if he isn't, Elliot would tell Kate that I deserve better. No one has ever suspected a thing all this time, but with Elliot probably freely and happily asking Kate to formally meet his parents, it means things are finally serious. And as Kate and I now reside in Seattle where they all live, he knows she's going to figure it all out sooner or later.

Christian is trapped—knowing that Elliot will eventually tell Kate.

I frown at the thought. He's been forced into the invitation. It's not so that I can drink. It's so that he can blatantly lie to his brother all the while keeping his mistress and his wife—happy. The realization is as bleak as it is depressing.

"Dinner's almost ready," Grace says as she follows Mia out of the room.

Christian frowns as he gazes at me.

"Sit," he commands, pointing to the plush couch, and I do as I'm told, carefully crossing my legs. He sits down beside me but is careful not to touch me.

"We were just talking about vacations, Ana," Mr. Grey says kindly. "Elliot has decided to follow Kate and her family to Barbados for a week."

I glance at Kate, and she grins, her eyes bright and wide. She's delighted, as she should be. She's only known this for two weeks, but it seems Elliot just told Grace and Carrick, today.

"Are you taking a break now that you've finished your degree?" Carrick asks.

"I'm thinking about visiting a few distant cousins in Texas for a few days," I reply.

Christian gapes at me, blinking a couple of times, his expression unreadable. _Oh, shit. I haven't mentioned this to him._

"Texas?" he murmurs.

"My grandmother lives there, and I haven't seen her for a while."

"When were you thinking of going?" His voice is low.

"Possibly tomorrow, late evening."

Mia saunters back into the living room with Leila in tow and hands us champagne flutes filled with pale pink prosecco.

"To your good health and happy summer fun!" Carrick raises his glass. An appropriate toast from a doctor's husband, that makes me smile.

"For how long?" Christian asks, his voice deceptively soft as he glances at Leila.

 _Holy shit . . . he's angry._

"I don't know yet. It's going to depend on how my interviews go tomorrow."

His jaw clenches and Kate gets that interfering look on her face. She smiles at me in that over-sweet way that only a Kavanagh can.

"Ana deserves a break," she says pointedly at Christian. _Why is she so antagonistic toward him? What is her problem?_

"You have interviews?" Mr. Grey asks.

"Yes, for internships at two publishing houses, tomorrow."

"I wish you the best of luck, dear girl."

"Dinner is ready," Grace announces.

We all stand. Kate and Elliot follow Carrick and Mia out of the room. As Leila glances back and starts to leave the room, I go to follow, but Christian clutches my elbow, bringing me to an abrupt halt.

"When were you going to tell me you were leaving?" he asks urgently. His tone is soft, but he's masking his anger.

"I'm not leaving, I'm going to see my grandmother, and I was only thinking about it."

"What about our arrangement?"

"We don't have an arrangement yet."

He narrows his eyes and then seems to remember himself. Releasing my arm, he takes my elbow and leads me out of the room.

"This conversation is not over," he whispers threateningly as we enter the dining room.

"What arrangement?" Leila asks sweetly, grabbing onto Christian's other arm as she glares at me.

"Christian offered to let me intern at GEH. I told him I'd talk with Ros about it. Nothings set in stone yet."

"That was awfully sweet of you," Leila says unhappily, shooting Christian a sharp glare.

"She's your sister, I'm only doing what's right," he says pointedly, before ignoring her attempts at starting a fight.

The dining room reminds me of our private dinner at the Heathman. It was just the beginning of our contract negotiations, which seems like years ago, but is really only a few days—right before graduation. A crystal chandelier hangs over the dark wood table and there's a massive, ornately carved mirror on the wall. The table, covered with a crisp white linen tablecloth, is set, with a bowl of pale pink peonies as the centerpiece. It's stunning as always.

Carrick is at the head of the table, while I sit at his right hand, and Christian is seated beside me. Mr. Grey reaches for the opened bottle of red wine and offers some to Kate. Leila takes her seat beside Christian and, grabbing his hand, squeezes it tightly. Christian smiles at her stiffly. Grace sits across from me, and next to her sits, Kate, then Elliot, and finally Mia.

Leila turns to me then and smiles stiffly, "I stopped by your apartment, you weren't there. However, there was a new shiny red Audi parked out front. Who does that belong to?"

I pause, glancing at Christian and Kate frowns at the two of us.

"You didn't tell your own wife that you bought her sister an Audi for her graduation present?"

"That was awfully kind of you, son," Carrick says gently.

"You WHAT?" Leila bellows.

"She needed something that was up to par. That old Beetle was a death trap and Ray happened to agree with me. I purchased the Audi as a gift."

"A red Audi?" she asks incredulously.

Christian winces, realizing his mistake.

"It's what was on the lot. Should it matter that it's the same color I bought for you?" he adds, seeming fed up with the conversation.

"Wine, Ana?" Carrick asks.

"Please." I smile at him and he rises to fill the rest of the glasses.

I peek up at Christian, and he turns to look at me, his head cocked to one side.

"What?" he asks.

"Please don't be mad at me about Texas," I whisper.

"I'm not mad at you."

I stare at him incredulously and he sighs.

"Yes, I am mad at you." He closes his eyes briefly.

"Palm-twitchingly mad?" I ask nervously.

"What are you two whispering about?" Kate interjects.

I flush, and Christian glares at her in a butt-out-of-this-Kavanagh kind of way. Even bullheaded Kate wilts under his ashy stare.

"Just about my trip to Texas," I say sweetly, hoping to diffuse their mutual hostility.

Kate smiles, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"How was José when you went to the bar with him on Friday?"

 _Holy fuck, Kate._ I widen my eyes at her and she widens her eyes back at me.

It's then I realize that despite Elliot not yet telling her—she knows something. She's purposely trying to make Christian jealous. How much she knows, is yet to be seen. I thought I had gotten away with it all, but I, of course, could never be that lucky. Christian was always bound to learn that José and I had gone out and had not stayed at the apartment. It was only a matter of time.

"He was fine," I murmur.

Christian leans over.

"Palm-twitchingly mad," he whispers. "Especially now." His tone is quiet and deadly.

I squirm under his intense start as Grace reappears carrying two plates, followed by the pretty young woman with blond pigtails, dressed in pale blue, carrying a tray of plates. Gretchen's eyes immediately find Christian's in the room. She blushes and gazes at him from under her long mascara-covered lashes as she does each time she sees him.

Somewhere in the house the phone starts ringing.

"Excuse me." Carrick rises again and exits.

"Thank you, Gretchen," Grace says gently, frowning as Mr. Grey exits. "Just leave the tray on the console." Gretchen nods, and with another furtive glance at Christian, she leaves just as Mr. Grey returns.

"Call for you, darling. It's the hospital," he says to Grace.

"Please start, everyone." Grace smiles as she hands me a plate and leaves.

It smells delicious—chorizo and scallops with roasted red peppers and shallots, sprinkled with flat-leaf parsley. And in spite of the fact that my stomach is churning from Christian's veiled threats, the surreptitious glances from pretty little Miss Pigtails, Leila's attitude, and the debacle of my missing underwear, I am starving. I flush as I realize it's the physical effort of this afternoon that's given me such an appetite.

Moments later Grace returns, her brow furrowed. Mr. Grey cocks his head to one side, much like Christian.

"Everything okay?"

"Another measles case." Grace sighs.

"Oh no."

"Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated." She shakes her head sadly and then smiles. "I'm so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Elliot," she says as she sits down, smiling indulgently at her son. Elliot frowns mid-chew and squirms uncomfortably. "Christian and Mia were lucky. They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them."

Mia giggles, and Christian rolls his eyes.

"So, how was José then, Ana?" Leila asks sweetly. "He's always had such a crush on you. You really should give the poor guy a chance."

Christian's utensils clamor on his plate as he turns and glares at her.

"A chance? You want her to give that fucker a chance?"

"Christian! Language!" Grace admonishes.

"Sorry, mother. No, she won't be giving him a chance. She's never going to be alone with that little shit again."

"What are you talking about?" Leila asks.

Christian lets out a deep breath before he continues.

"When I had a meeting with the board for WSU, Elliot came down and we went hiking. That evening, Kate and Ana were out celebrating after finals. Elliot decided to meet Kate and I tagged along. It's a good thing I did because I found Ana outside with the photographer's tongue rammed down her throat as she was attempting to push him off of her."

"Well it's about damn time," Leila says flippantly, "No one stays a virgin forever."

Carrick sputters as he takes a sip of his wine and Elliot grins.

"Oh, Leila. You really don't know your sister at all, do you?"

"Elliot!" Grace admonishes him.

"Banana is an adult, just like the rest of us. Besides, Christian is right. The photographer fucker has no boundaries. Ana was piss-drunk. They all were except for him. He would have taken advantage of her if Christian hadn't gone outside looking for her. The fucker would have left her there after she got sick, too. Instead of the worst possible thing happening, Christian took her back to the hotel."

"Why did you take her back with you?" Leila asks heatedly.

"I was with Elliot and he knew I wouldn't be able to watch Ana myself. He looked out for her. You should consider yourself lucky that he's willing to do such a thing. Not many people care that much about their family," Kate says defensively.

"That's the exact reason he gifted her the Audi. We all know Carla favors you over Ana. You've never had to work a day in your life, but Ana's worked her ass off. She deserves a gift and if Christian wants to give her something for achieving what should have been impossible, then he has every right to do so. Besides, she's your sister. You should want what's best for her."

Leila wisely keeps her mouth shut, knowing she's just pissed off Kate royally seeming as she's taken to defending Christian Grey of all people.

"And if you're so angry about that, I may as well tell you now that I paid off Anastasia's student loans in full."

My mouth drops open and the whole table becomes deathly quiet as I gape up at him.

"Y-You what?" I squeak.

"I discussed your student loans with Carla, and when she informed me that although she had paid for Leila's schooling, she had no intention of paying for yours, I was pissed off. So, I called the office in front of her and paid them in full. You're debt free, Miss Steele," he says smoothly.

Tears well up in my eyes as I stare at him and he leans over and affectionately kisses the top of my head.

"Christian-"

"Don't," he says sternly, "I can more than afford it, Anastasia."

"But, it's too much."

"She's right," Leila says stubbornly.

"She's family. I would do the same thing for Katherine if she was in that position and she's just your friend. Don't be cruel."

Wisely, Leila closes her mouth and for a moment no one says a word.

"So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?" Elliot's clearly keen to move the conversation on.

The hors d'oeuvres are delicious, and I concentrate on eating while Elliot, Carrick, and Christian talk baseball. Christian seems relaxed and calm talking to his family. My mind is working furiously. _Damn Kate, what game is she playing? . . . What exactly is Leila's problem? . . . Will he punish me for my new list of transgressions?_ I shiver at the thought. I haven't signed that contract yet. Perhaps I won't. Perhaps I'll stay in Texas where he can't reach me.

"How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?" Grace asks politely.

I'm grateful for her question, distracting me from my discordant thoughts, and I tell her about our move.

As we finish our starters, Gretchen appears, and not for the first time, I wish I was able to put my hands freely on Christian just to let her know—he may be fifty shades of fucked up, _but he's mine_. She proceeds to clear the table, brushing rather too closely to Christian for my liking. Fortunately, he seems oblivious to her, but inwardly I want to strangle the girl.

Tuning back into the conversation, I find Kate and Mia are gushing about their adventures in Paris at different times.

"Have you been to Paris, Ana?" Mia asks innocently, distracting me from my jealous reverie.

"No, but I'd love to go." I know I'm the only one at the table who has never left the USA, despite Christian's offers each year for my birthday.

"We honeymooned in Paris." Grace smiles at Mr. Grey, who grins back at her.

It's almost embarrassing to witness. They love each other deeply, and for the first time, I wonder for a brief moment what it must be like to grow up with both one's parents in situ.

"It's a beautiful city," Mia agrees. "Oh! Christian, you and Leila should take Ana for her birthday," Mia states firmly.

"I think Anastasia would prefer London," Christian says softly.

 _Oh . . . he remembered._ Ever so carefully, he places his hand on my knee—his fingers traveling up my thigh and my whole body tightens in response. _Not here, not now._ I shift, trying to pull away from him, but his hand clamps down on my thigh, stilling my attempts to get away. I desperately reach for my wine as if it will save me from his risqué touch beneath the dinner table.

Little Miss European Pigtails returns all coy glances and swaying hips, with our entrées: beef Wellington. Fortunately, she gives us our plates and then leaves, although she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close the dining room door.

"So what was wrong with the Parisians?" Elliot asks his sister. "Didn't they take to your winsome ways?"

"Ugh, no they didn't. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant."

This time it's my turn to sputter into my wine.

"Anastasia, are you okay?" Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.

Humor has returned to his voice. _Maybe no punishment, then?_ When I nod, he pats my back gently and only removes his hand when he knows I've recovered.

The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green beans. It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good humor for the rest of the meal. I suspect that it's because I'm eating so heartily. The conversation flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing one another. Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into fluent French. We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled until Christian tells her in equally fluent French what she's done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. Mia's laugh is as infectious as ever, and soon we're all in stitches.

Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the north of Seattle. I glance up at Kate, and she's hanging on every word Elliot says, her eyes glowing with lust or love. I haven't quite worked out which yet, because frankly, Kate is like a giant jigsaw puzzle. He grins down at her, and it's as if an unspoken promise passes between them. Whatever it is that's lite between them, it causes me to flush with jealousy just by watching them.

I sigh and peek up at my favorite Fifty Shades. I could stare at his rugged beauty forever. He has light stubble over his chin, and my fingers itch to scratch it and feel it against my face, against my skin . . . between my thighs. I flush at the mere thought and then, just as suddenly, he's peering down at me. Right away, I notice the way he clenches his fist as he glances at my mouth.

Reluctantly, I pull my lip from between my teeth—unaware that it's what I've been doing for several long moments, but conscious of the fact that its likely driven Christian crazy.

Grace and Mia clear our dessert glasses and head to the kitchen, while Carrick, Kate, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in Washington State, and Leila nurses what must be her sixth glass of wine. Christian, feigning interest in their conversation, puts his hand once more on my knee, and his fingers travel up my thigh. My breathing hitches and I press my thighs together in a bid to halt his progress.

I can see him smirk just as Elliot opens his mouth with a feign of innocence.

"Hey Ana, didn't we talk about looking at Christian's old rowing trophies?"

"Uh-"

"Oh, right," Christian says easily, "Shall we go look?" he asks openly.

"I'll tag along," Elliot grins, "I'm sure I've got a trophy or two out there."

I know I'm meant to say yes, but I don't trust either of them. Before I can answer, however, the Grey brothers are on their feet and Christian is holding his hand out to me. I place my hand in his, and I feel all the muscles in my body clench, responding to his dark, hungry gaze.

"Excuse me," I say to Carrick, Leila, and Kate, as I follow Christian out of the dining room.

They lead me through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Mia and Grace are stacking the dishwasher. European Pigtails is nowhere to be seen.

"We're going to show Anastasia my rowing trophies," Christian says innocently to his mother. She waves us out with a smile as Mia heads back to the dining room.

We step out onto the gray flagstone patio area lit by recessed lights in the rock. There are shrubs in gray stone tubs and a chic metal table and chairs set up in one corner. Christian walks past those, up some steps, and onto a vast lawn that leads down to the bay . . . it's as beautiful as ever. Seattle twinkles on the horizon and the cool, bright May moon etches a sparkling silver path across the water toward a jetty where two boats are moored. Besides the jetty stands the boathouse. It's picturesque and the epitome of peaceful. I stand and gape for a moment as Elliot walks off ahead of us.

Christian pulls me behind him, and my heels sink into the soft grass.

"Stop, please." I am stumbling in his wake.

He stops and gazes at me, his expression unfathomable as Elliot continues on to the boathouse.

"My heels. I need to take my shoes off."

"Don't bother," he says, and he bends down and scoops me over his shoulder. I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind.

"Keep your voice down," he growls.

 _Fuck . . . this is not good._ If I was standing, I'd be quaking at the knees. He's mad about something—could be José, Texas, no panties, biting my lip. Elliot. Leila. _I should be the one upset._

"Where are we going?" I breathe.

"Boathouse," he snaps.

I hang on to his hips as I'm tipped upside down, and he strides purposefully in the moonlight across the lawn.

"Why?" I sound breathless, bouncing on his shoulder.

"I need to be alone with you."

"With Elliot?" I snip and again he swats me on the ass. "What for?" I huff.

"Only for a moment. And because I'm going to spank you and then I'm going to fuck you."

"Why?" I whimper softly.

"You know why," he hisses.

"I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?" I plead breathlessly.

"Anastasia, I'm in the moment, trust me."

 _Holy fuck. Christian Grey is going to be the death of me._

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Feel free to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or join the group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces:** h t t p : / / m . f a c e b o o k . c o m / g r o u p s / 2 1 5 8 4 7 9 2 7 4 4 3 2 3 2 4

 **Recommended FanFiction:** One Crazy Night by Madison Quinn

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	9. Chapter 7

**Reviews from Chapter 6:**

 **daytonalay:** While Christian may almost seem compliant to Leila's schematic ways, remember this: Christian Grey is the Master of his Universe. 

**Guest:** The outline of FSOG is a fantastic one and for the beginning of this story it's needed to remain true to itself. After this first book is done with, things will change dramatically as Christian and Ana discover more about their relationship and themselves. As for Ana's family, Ray will redeem himself later on. However, that's down the road because as of now, he works better in the background. When it comes to Carla . . . well she doesn't get any better. I've chosen to show just how selfish the woman can be after what we were originally introduced too by EL James.

 **Luvdisney2007:** No Leila POVs in the foreseeable future, but . . . (for those reading these replies) . . . there may or may not be a Christian POV in a couple of chapters. Soon you'll all see . . . Christian's _Little One_ is no side piece. She's _the_ piece ;) 

**motherbeatrice:** This Leila is unfortunately just as selfish as her dear old mother.

 **zeeulove:** Our dear Dom has a few tricks up his sleeves. After all, he is the Master of his Universe . . .

 **Songs:**

 ** _Girls Like You_ by Maroon 5**

 **and**

 ** _Something's Gotta Give_ by Camila Cabello**

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Christian bursts through the over-sized wooden door of the boathouse and stops as Elliot flicks on the light switches. Fluorescents ping and buzz in perfect sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see the Grey's boat in the dock floating gently in the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he's carrying me up the wooden stairs to the room above.

He pauses at the doorway and flicks on another switch—halogens, this time, that are much softer on the eyes as if they're on a dimmer—and we're in a room I've never seen with sloped ceilings. The attic has a nautical New England theme: sharp navy blues and light creams with dashes of stark red. What surprises me is the fact that the furnisher is sparse—two couches and a basic coffee table make up the room.

Christian sets me on my feet but I don't even get a chance to examine my surroundings—my eyes are on him. I'm simply mesmerized . . . the man stalks from one side of the room to the other as if he's about to strike. His breathing is harsh as he walks the room like a predacious jaguar, but then of course, he's just carried me across the vast lawn and up the stairs to this very room. As he looks up from the floor I find that his usual storm gray eyes are ablaze with rage and pure unadulterated lust that is directed towards me.

The Dominant is present but my inner submissive is nowhere in sight.

"Please don't hit me," I whisper, pleading with his inner surface dominant. His brow furrows, his eyes widening at my words before he slowly blinks twice. So I take my chance, and plead again, "I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't."

His mouth falls open in surprise—and feeling beyond brave—I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, over the edge of his jaw, and then along the slight stubble on his chin. It's a curious mixture that's equal parts soft and gruff.

Ever so slowly, I watch as Christian closes his eyes and leans his face into my touch. When his breath hitches in his throat, I tentatively reach up with my other hand and run my fingers through his hair. His soft moan of appreciation is barely audible, and when his eyes flash open he's staring at me warily—almost as if he doesn't understand what I'm doing or what he's feeling.

"Well, that's an eye opener. Leila not into the kinky shit?"

Elliot's sudden presence behind me is like a bucket of ice being dumped over my head.

"Elliot," Christian says tensely, "What the fuck do you want?"

"I want to know why throughout the duration of dinner, you're paying more attention to your mistress than to your wife."

"Don't call her that," Christian growls.

Elliot's eyebrows shoot up into the hair that falls across his forehead.

"Ana or Leila?"

"Will you stop?" Christian all but growls. "You said you weren't going to say anything. Now you're acting as if you're ready to pull the rug out from under us at any moment."

"I already told you I wouldn't do that to Ana Banana."

"But you're willing to do it to your own brother?"

Elliot frowns and places his hands on his hips as he studies us together.

"No, I guess I'm just confused. I realized a while ago how closed off Leila was. I mentioned it to Kate too, but she said it was all in my head. She claimed that Leila had talked about how great your sex life was but I have to wonder just how true that is. She's on her sixth glass of wine, so I'm guessing that's not a thing that's going to happen tonight."

I close my eyes at his words and feel my body tense under Christian's firm touch.

"Elliot!" he snaps.

"It's okay," I say gently, opening my eyes and letting out a deep breath of pent up frustration. "She's your wife. I know it happens. I've had to hear about it too."

Staring at me with his molten gray eyes, Christian adamantly shakes his head.

"She's lying."

"Christian, she's your wife. I know you're sleeping with her. I've known the truth from the moment that I crawled into your bed. It was my choice. It's my own fault-"

"No, Anastasia. What I mean to say is, she's lying about us sleeping together," he says softly as he takes hold of one of my hands. "Leila and I had a fight about her birth control shortly after our first anniversary. I haven't slept with Leila in over a year."

"Are you telling us that you didn't sleep with her on your anniversary?" Elliot asks sounding dumbfounded.

Christian looks embarrassed as he runs his hand through his copper hair.

"I sent her to the spa while we were on the island and I stayed holed up in the bungalow, working and emailing Ana the whole duration time. She was drunk for the majority of the trip anyway. It wouldn't have mattered."

"So why did you fight about her birth control then?" Elliot asks bravely.

"That was our first anniversary. She wanted to start a family. I said no. That was the end of the discussion."

"You didn't talk about that before you married her?"

"Leila has always said she didn't want children. Christian wouldn't have thought different," I murmur. So why did she change her mind?"

"I don't know," Christian sighs, "But I'll admit it's made things easier. Not sleeping with her . . . I don't want a family with her."

"But she evidently wasn't that great of a lay, if you're sleeping with Ana," Elliot says pointedly.

Christian clears his throat, "Leila decided the lifestyle we were leading wasn't for her anymore. I'm not sure why and truthfully, I couldn't be bothered enough to even ask. It happened about two and a half months after our wedding. At that point, Ana and I had already been sleeping together for about three months."

"Wait a minute, " Elliot frowns. "You haven't had sex with Leila since before your first anniversary?"

"That would be correct. In fact, after our honeymoon I can count the number of times I've had sex with her on one hand. After our first anniversary, the contact I did have with her—was strictly oral. However, that ended _before_ our second anniversary. Like I said, I haven't slept with Leila in over a year.

Now that's enough questions for tonight. You can interrogate me some other time, Lelliot. Right now, I want ten minutes with Ana and you're going to keep an eye out for Mia, your little girlfriend, and Leila. Got it?"

Stubbornly, Elliot nods and teasingly salutes us before he heads down the stairs and out the door, firmly shutting it behind him.

The moment we're finally alone, I reach up and run my fingers through Christian's hair again. Stepping forward so I am right up against his body, I gently pull on his hair, bringing his mouth down to meet mine. As I kiss him, I tease my tongue along his lips, and his appreciative moan is all I need before slipping my tongue into his awaiting mouth. When his arms embrace me, pulling me to him, he lets his hands find their way into my hair, before he turns the kiss turns hard. Our tongues twist and turn in a possessive duel as we consume one another.

When he suddenly pulls back, our collective breathing is ragged. The moment my hands drop to his arms, he glares down at me.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers, seemingly confused.

"Kissing you," I frown.

"You said no."

"What?"

"At the dinner table, with your legs."

"But we were at your parents' dining table." I stare up at him, completely bewildered by his thought process. "And not only that, but you were sitting between me and my sister who is—in case you've forgotten, your wife."

"I haven't forgotten. The woman is a daily thorn in my side," he momentarily scowls and then his brow furrows. "No one's ever said no to me like that before and for some reason, it's so—hot."

His eyes—filled with both wonder and lust—widen at the sound of his own words. It's a substantial blend that causes me to swallow instinctively as the air around us crackles with electricity. He uses one hand to the curve of my behind and pulls me up against his hardened front.

I lick my suddenly dry lips and stare at him in astonishment.

"Y-You're mad and turned on because I said no?" I stutter.

"That's not it," he breathes. "I'm mad because you never once mentioned going to Texas. I'm mad because you went out drinking with that fucking piece of scum who tried to seduce you when you were drunk, and who would have left you on the street if I hadn't come along. What kind of friend does that? What kind of _man_ does that? But most of all, I'm mad because I can't touch you when I want to touch you all because of _her_. My. Stupid. Fucking. Wife!" he snarls.

His eyes glitter dangerously and his hand begins to snake up my thigh, slowing inching up the hem of my dress.

"And I'm mad and beyond aroused because you closed your legs on me," he rasps.

"I want you, and I want you now. So if you're not going to let me spank you—which you deserve—I'm going to fuck you on the couch, right this minute. It's going to be quick and solely for my pleasure, not yours."

My dress is just barely brushing the skin of my naked behind when he moves swiftly, so that his hand is cupping my sex. Then, slowly but skillfully, he sinks one of his fingers into me. He then masterfully uses his other arm—winding it around my waist—to hold me firmly in place, and despite my mouth falling open, I suppress my more-than-satisfied moan.

"This is _mine_ " he whispers aggressively. "All mine. Do you understand, Little One?" He eases his finger in and out of my eager pussy as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning like ash amongst the embers of my perennial vision.

"Yes, yours," I breathe as my searing desire surges through my veins. My nerve endings feel as if they're being lit ablaze and my breathing feels erratic . My heart is pounding, almost as if it's trying to escape my chest, the blood beating like a drum in my ears.

Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once with perfectioned ease. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me a deprived puddle of need as he undoes his pants, all the while he uses his knee to spread my legs apart and to push me down onto the couch before he pins me with his chest so that he's lying on top of me.

"Hands on your head," he commands through gritted teeth as he moves to kneel, forcing my legs further apart as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out the foil packet, gazing down at me, his expression as dark as the nighttime sky, before shrugging his jacket off so that it falls to the floor. Then he proceeds to tear the packet open before he rolls the condom down over his impressive length.

I place my hands on my head just as he's asked, and despite knowing it's so that I won't touch him in his no-zone, I'm beyond turned on. The way he makes me feel is simply metaphysical.

I feel my hips moving up to meet his—wanting him, needing him deep inside my aching pussy—rough and hard just the way we crave for it to be. The anticipation is pure agony.

"We don't have long. This will be quick, and it's for me, not for you. Do you understand, Little One? Don't come, or I will have to spank you," he says through clenched teeth.

I nod my understanding, not really understanding at all. The way our bodies become one—it will be nearly impossible to stop.

With one swift thrust, he's buried deep inside me. The full sensation of his possession sends my heart into overdrive as I let out a guttural moan.

With his legs pinning me to the couch he takes his hands and places them on mine, right on top of my head. As he uses his elbows to hold my arms out and to pin them down against the fabric of the couch, I revel in the fact that I am trapped under the one and only delectable Christian Grey.

The man is everywhere all at once, overwhelming my senses with his hot panting breath against the skin of my neck. The only thing that could make the sensation better would be to have his hand wrapped around the base of my throat.

"Christian, " I plead.

He keeps his pace, moving rapidly inside of me almost as if he needs to keep with his furious pace.

"Sir," I rasp.

His molten eyes pierce mine and he lets out a groan before he speaks.

"What is it, Little One?" His voice is thick with lust as it fans my face, and my body responds, melting into his as I make out my final plea.

"Hands, please!"

He practically snarls as he moves one arm and brings his hand down and around the base of my throat, pressing down lightly.

The sensation is just what I crave and the way his eyes dilate and darken to a shadow, show me my request does to him. It's sinfully heaven, because this is what I too, do to him, and it brings me a sense of victory as I come close to falling over the edge.

 _I musn_ _'t_ _come. No. I'm not allowed to come_

Yet I continue, meeting him thrust for thrust as his hand persistently closes in, his thumb in the hallow of my throat. It's the perfect counterpoint, but as I feel his cock hit my cervix, I find it increasingly difficult to control the urging need my body is demanding of me.

Instantaneously, he thrusts into me and stills as his cock pulses twice and he finds his release, his warm breath fanning across my sensitized skin as he fills me. Just for a moment, he relaxes against me so that I can feel the entirety of his weight on top of me.

I shift my hips, longing for relief as I'm not ready to let him go. In that moment, I find that I can't bring myself to fight against the pressure of his weight, or—at last—my inner submissive.

He withdraws abruptly and pulls his band from my neck, leaving my body aching for more as he glares down at me.

"You are not to touch yourself. I want you frustrated for my touch. This is to be a reminder of what you do to me by refusing to talk to me, by denying me what is mine. Do you understand?"

I nod, panting at the sound of his gruff voice as he removes the condom, knotting it at the end before he shoves it into the pocket of his pants.

I gaze up at him, feeling dazed as I try to control my erratic breathing. Involuntarily I brush my fingers along the base of my throat and squeeze my thighs together, quietly whimpering as I feel my slick lips push together, bringing a delicious throb to my swollen clit.

The stinging sensation of a slap to my thigh has me quietly sobbing as my attempt to find relief is brought to an end.

"None of that," he orders sternly.

I watch as Christian does up his pants and runs his hands through his unruly hair before he reaches down to collect his jacket. When he turns back to gaze down at me, his expression grows softer.

"You did so well, Little One, " he croons as he runs the tip of his thumb over my stubborn pout. "We'd better get back to the house."

I sit up, a little unsteadily, feeling dazed at the idea facing everybody after what's just occurred.

"Here. You may have these back to put on."

From the inside pocket of his jacket, he produces my pale blue lace panties.

I keep my expression stoic as I take the scrap of fabric from him. Sure, if I was to ask he'd tell me I'm receiving them back because I've taken a punishment fuck, but deep down I know—he's giving them to me because he knows that I need the security they provide. It's my reward for being his Submissive and his Little One despite knowing that we likely won't see one another for at least a week after tonight.

"Christian!" Elliot shouts from the floor below. "Here comes Mia!"

He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. "Just in time. Christ, they can be really irritating."

I smirk back at him as I hastily restore my panties to their rightful place. Then, I stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state before I make a haphazard attempt to smooth my sex hair.

"Up here, Mia," he calls down. "Well, Miss Steele, I feel better after that—but I still want to spank you," he says softly.

"I don't believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack."

"Unprovoked? _Y_ _ou_ kissed _me_ , Little One." He tries his best to look wounded but in truth I only want to giggle at his expression.

I purse my lips. "It was my best form of defense."

"Defense against what? Besides, with your damn baby blues, you had me wrapping my hand around your delicate throat."

"You and your twitchy palm. And don't deny that it turns you on."

He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs. "But it was tolerable?" he asks softly.

I flush. "Barely," I whisper, but I can't help my smirk.

"Mmm," he hums and offers me a grin. "And I'll never deny that having my hands on you—in any way I can get you—turns me on immensely."

"Oh, there you are." She beams at us.

"I was showing Anastasia around." Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.

I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze.

"Kate is about ready to leave. Could you believe those two throughout dinner? They can't keep their hands off each other." Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. "What have you been doing in here?"

I blush and look up at my one and only Dom, watching the way his expression remains stoic.

"Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies," Christian says without missing a beat. "Let's go say goodbye to Kate and Elliot."

 _Rowing trophies?_ I barely manage to conceal my smirk from Mia, but end up catching his eyes. He pulls me in front of him gently, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind making me gasp in astonishment.

With his lips at my ear he takes his chance to quietly let the threat loose.

"I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon."

Then as if nothing has been said, he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses the very top of my hair.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Back at the house, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Carrick, but when I step into the room, Kate hugs me hard.

"I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian," I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me.

"He needs to be antagonized. It gives you the opportunity to see what he's really like. Be careful, Ana—I think I've figured out what you've been up to," she whispers. "See you later."

While I'm fully aware that her actions are coming from good place, sometimes—like now, for instance—she oversteps. It's as if she doesn't understand what boundaries are.

When she pulls away, I scowl at her, and she pokes her tongue out at me, making me smile unwillingly. Playful Kate is a novelty that is only brought on by Elliot's influence. We all wave them off at the doorway until they're out of sight. Then, Christian turns to Leila.

"We should go, too—I promised Anastasia a ride. She has interviews tomorrow."

As we say goodbye, Mia embraces me warmly.

"I never thought you and Christian could get through a dinner without biting one another's heads off," she giggles.

"Why do you say that?"

"When you fight with Leila or your mom, it seems as if it turns into a fight with Christian every single time," she shrugs nonchalantly.

I flush at the accurate accusation and Christian rolls his eyes for the third time tonight, to which I shoot him a quick glare. _Why can he do that when I can't?_ I want to roll my eyes back at him, but after his threat of a spanking, I don't dare.

"Ana darling, take care of yourself," Grace says kindly.

Christian, either embarrassed or frustrated by the lavish attention I'm receiving from the remaining Grey's, grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.

"Let's not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection," he grumbles.

"Christian, stop teasing the girl," Grace scolds him indulgently, her eyes glowing with love and affection for him. "The two of you argue enough. Leave her be."

Somehow, I don't think he's teasing.

I carefully watch their interaction as he bends to stiffly place a kiss on her cheek. It's quite obvious to me—and anyone else that bothers to pay them any attention—that Grace adores him with what can only be a mother's unconditional love. It's plain as day, but somehow the stubborn man doesn't see it.

"Mom," he says, and there's an undercurrent in his voice— _reverence maybe?_ "We do not argue that much."

"Oh, please," Mia says. "Your arguments are sometimes the highlight of a holiday dinner when the Williams come over."

I grimace at the thought of my mother and Leila sighs as she haughtily raises her chin.

"That's only because Ana acts like a child when it comes to our parents."

"I wouldn't have to if mom treated me half as well as she treats you."

She huffs as she places her well-manicured hands on her hips.

"Perhaps that wouldn't be the case if you hadn't burnt down the pool house and the barn."

"For the last time, you know I wasn't the one responsible for _either_ of those fires!" I snarl angrily and yank my hand from Christian's hold.

"You got high for the first and then you managed to get drunk and hook up with my boyfriend at the time of the second, Ana. It's not that hard of a concept to grasp!"

"That's enough," Christian says sternly, gripping her elbow and giving her a sharp glare. "Stop goading her."

"I'm not goading her. She's the one that started it."

"You called her a child when the only child I see here, is you. Stop treating your sister as if she's less than you."

"Stop defending her at every turn."

"Leila-" he says warningly. But without another word, she pulls her elbow from his grasp and opens the door before storming outside.

"I'm sorry about that," Christian says quietly.

Grace sighs and Mia studies him with a small frown but stays quiet.

"Carrick—goodbye and thank you." I hold out my hand to him, but he pulls me in for a hug, too.

"You're always welcome. I do hope we see you again very soon, Ana. Once you start work, we'll schedule a lunch date to celebrate. I'd like to take my second daughter out," he winks.

Our farewells said, Christian leads me to the car, where Taylor is waiting. Taylor opens my door, and I slide into the back of the Audi, across the seat so that I'm unfortunately sitting next to Leila.

When she ignores me, I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. _What a day_. I am well beyond being both physically and emotionally exhausted.

After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car next to me. He turns to face us both, but only gazes at Leila.

"I apologized to my family for you," he murmurs.

"It's not as if they care. I could have worn a clown costume and they wouldn't have noticed I was there. It was all about Elliot and Kate. Then Mia and Paris. And of course, Anastasia," she snarls and I feel myself visibly shrink back against the seat.

"What?" he asks, his voice quiet.

I flounder momentarily bewildered by the situation. _No—don't argue with one another about me while I'm sitting right in between the two of you!_

"I think that I've had enough Grey family dinners to last a fucking lifetime." Her voice is hard and cruel. "If it wasn't for Mia and her damn shopping trip, I never would have bothered to come." I can't quite make out his face in the dark, but Christian tilts his head, gaping at her.

"My family has gone out of their way to make you feel welcome all of these years. Yet at every turn, you manage to turn your nose up at them. Your sister on the other hand—who I will remind you is sitting right beside you—has been gracious and kind. You're the one who wanted to meet them. If you hadn't insisted on it, you wouldn't be here and we wouldn't be married. Is that how you've felt the entire time we've been married? As if my family is a waste of your precious time?"

He's pulled the guilt card on her—and it's a revelation to both see and hear. He doesn't seem uncomfortable guilting her either. He seems almost genuinely pleased that she's so upset. He shakes his head and clenches his fists together in his lap.

"Don't worry about Anastasia now, Leila. You already opened your mouth. Talk."

She shrugs.

"Yes. I think that. And another thing, I only mentioned Kate and Elliot because Elliot can't keep his mouth shut about Kate. You've never acted that way about me."

"I never had to, Leila and I certainly don't intend to do so now."

"Of course not."

He looks oddly at her like he's having some internal struggle.

"What is it that you want?" he asks eventually.

Crossing her arms, she shrugs.

"I would like for us to visit Dr. Flynn, together."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I think we need to talk about your lack of wanting a family. I'm hoping for a way to work through all of this."

He stares at her.

"No."

She bursts out laughing. "I knew you would say that."

In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.

"You really are something, you know that?"

"That's why you married me," she replies.

"I married you because I thought we were on the same page."

Even though they're fighting, I can feel the sexual tension between them and suddenly I feel sick.

"Ana?" Leila says carefully—breaking me from my reverie. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"No, you're not," I say quietly, "You never are."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. All you do is treat me as if I'm beneath you."

"What makes you think that?"

"I'll leave you to figure that out."

"I'm not sure I can."

"From the moment we met, you've acted as if I took something from you. But I didn't. You're the one who has taken from me. You wound our mother around your finger. You isolated me in my own home. You made yourself out to be the victim when you know that's not the truth."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Christian stares at us, impassive.

"I said I'd try," she murmurs.

"I know. But that was at Christmas, Leila. I just graduated and you couldn't even be bothered to make the evening about anyone other than yourself. You pouted all the way through dinner that night. And tonight? You did the same exact thing."

She shifts as if uncomfortable.

"I admit I've been cruel to you in the past. But why do seem to resent me far more than I deserve?"

 _Shit._ How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It's been sprung on me, like an exam that I'm not prepared for.

What do I say?

 _"Ana? Why do you seem to resent me so much?"_

 _Because I know what kind of person you really are._

 _Because I think I love your husband, and you just see him as a toy._

 _Because I can't touch him, because I'm too frightened to show him any affection in case you snap or tell me off or worse—learn of our affair._

It's never-ending.

 _What can I say?_

I stare momentarily out the window on Christian's side of the car. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don't need the night surrounding us for that to happen. It's an everyday occurrence.

"Why, Anastasia?" Leila again presses me for an answer.

I shrug, trapped. I don't want to lose her. In spite of all our problems, her demands, her need to have it all, I have never felt as guilty as I do right now. It's a thrill to be with Christian. He's so unpredictable, attractive, brilliant, and simply funny. But the lies . . . It's simply too complicated—I'm going to be left brokenhearted. He says he'll think about our version of more, but it still scares me. I close my eyes in reverence.

 _What can I say?_

Deep down I would just like . . . more. More Christian—who I would happily take anyway I could get. More affection, more time, more . . . love.

She squeezes my hand.

"Talk to me, Anastasia. I don't want to lose you. You're my sister . . ."

We're coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so her face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it's such a fitting metaphor. This woman, whom I once thought of as my sister, my friend—or my foe, as she said—she's not perfect. She's a woman with serious, deep emotional flaws, and she's dragging Christian into the dark unknowingly.

From Christian I want more, but from Leila . . .

"I just want some distance," I whisper.

"Oh," she says quietly.

I blink up at her, and she relinquishes my hand, placing both her hands in her lap with a sigh.

"I'll try to be a better sister."

"You've said that before, Leila," I sigh. "I'm tired of empty promises. Let's just agree to keep our distance from one another. I'll even avoid all future Grey family dinners and I promise not to have lunch with Carrick in place of his actual daughter-in-law. Happy?"

And that's Taylor's cue. "Mr. Grey. We've arrived at Miss. Steele's."

It seems to take Christian completely by surprise. Taking my hand, he opens the car door and pointedly ignores Leila as he clears his throat.

"I'll walk Miss Steele in."

We make our way up the stairs and inside the building. Once we reach the apartment door, I wrap my arms around his neck, and I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he's responding.

His body presses into mine, pushing me up against the doorframe with renewed vigor. When he uses his leg to spread my thighs apart I shamelessly grind my core against his thigh. As if he's been doused with water he pulls back and shakes his head as if he's scolding me.

"I wish I could stay with you, tonight," he breathes. "You're such a tempting little nymph and if you go away, I won't see you all week."

"I know," I murmur. And then, it's a spur-of-the-moment decision, "And I'll try, too. I'll sign the contract."

He gazes down at me in wide-eyed astoundment and gathers me in his arms, right up against his chest.

"Sign after Texas, " he murmurs. "Think about it. Think about it hard, baby. This isn't a decision you should make while in a lusting haze."

"I will, but I promise this is what I want. I want to be yours." And at the significance of my words we find ourselves standing in silence for a moment or two, shifting so we're as close together as we can be.

"You really should get inside," Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his warm embrace.

I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed as I rest my head on his shoulder and put my nose at his throat, drinking in the spicy- musk fragrance that is simply Christian.

I let my mind drift into a fantasy where Christian loves me. It's so close to tangible, that a small part of me dares to dream that it may, one day, come true. As I burrow in closer, I'm careful not to touch his chest and in reward his arms tighten around my body.

All too soon, I'm torn from my impossible reverie.

"I have to go home, sweet girl," Christian murmurs, and it's such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much despair.

 _A life, with Christian._ Except, our apartment at _BluSteel Tower_ is not home. It is merely a place where we may co-exist for a few hours in a peaceful bubble.

Christian opens the door to my apartment with my keys, and I shyly thank him, aware that he's been within earshot of my hasty conversation with Leila, but his soft gaze is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once in the doorway, Christian assesses me critically as I shiver.

"Why don't you have a jacket?" he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.

"It's in my new car," I reply sleepily, yawning.

He smirks at me.

"Tired, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey." The man can make me feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny but I take it in stride. Nevertheless, I feel as if an explanation is in order. "I've been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today."

"Well, if you're really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more," he promises as he takes my hand and kisses my palm.

I gaze up at him in awe and he grins lazily at me.

"Not tonight," he chuckles.

"But soon?" I ask breathlessly.

"Soon as we may, my little nymph," he murmurs with a kiss of a promise to my jaw.

"Why do you call me that?"

"Hmm?" he hums.

"Nymph. You've said it a few times today."

"Because the first time I saw you, you looked like a little pixie. My little nymphet, waiting to be devoured and unbeknownst to me, deflowered." He grins teasingly as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, "It seemed fitting."

"The first time you saw me?"

"Yes. At the house. I watched you walk up and you looked so young until you met my eyes. You were mine, right at that moment."

"I was yours long before that," I murmur, thinking back to the first time I saw him—when he saw Leila.

"Yes, you may be right," he says with a lazy grin as he hands me my keys.

"Your car is downstairs, locked and safe. Much like you should be once you close this door. Do not forget to lock it behind me, sweet girl, or I'll have security on you so fast you won't be able to blink." I briefly wish he could just send Leila home and stay with me so I'm not alone again in the new apartment. I frown at the thought, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.

"One day soon, we will find a way to spend the entire evening together. I very much enjoyed our night in your bed," he says as if he's read my mind.

Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. As I melt against him, I feel my insides clench with aching desire as my breathing all but stops. The sensation of his teeth on my lip is so pleasing that it encourages me to reciprocate. I fasten my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans deep in his throat. When the elevator doors open down the hall, he breaks the kiss before grabbing my hand and tugging me into his arms, away from view.

"Please, let me know how your interviews go tomorrow. I want to hear all about them. Perhaps before your flight leaves?"

"Okay," I whisper.

"What time will you be going?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. I've yet to purchase my ticket."

"Please let me know when you do. I want what's best for you, Anastasia."

"Duly noted," I quip with a raised brow.

Sighing he takes my hand once more, and brings it to his lips, kissing the skin on my knuckles before gently releasing me from his grip.

"Goodnight, Anastasia."

"Goodnight, Christian."

He steps back and I go to close the door.

"Lock the door behind me, Little One."

"Yes, Sir."

I firmly close the door and wait a moment, sensing his presence outside. With a small smirk on my lips, I turn the lock on the deadbolt and giggle when I hear his voice.

"Good girl, baby."

"Goodbye, Sir."

"Laters, baby."

And with those final words, he's gone into the night and into Leila's awaiting arms.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The apartment is empty when I wake, revealing that Kate has not yet made it back from Elliot's.

As I go about my morning, I unpack a few boxes before deciding to brew myself a cup of tea for breakfast.

Sitting in the living room while waiting for the water to boil, I open my laptop and—after finding not one email from Christian yet this morning—I go out on a limb and attempt to Skype him.

After a few moments, the video comes to life and I find Christian on the phone, glancing out the window, in black pants and a white shirt. His hair appears to be damp from the shower, and I imagine he's just finished a workout with Claude before arriving to work.

"Unless that company's PL improves, I'm not interested, Ros. We're not carrying dead weight . . . I don't need any more lame excuses . . . Have Marco call me, it's shit or bust time . . . Yes, tell Barney that the prototype looks good, though I'm not sure about the interface . . . No, it's just missing something . . . I want to meet him this afternoon to discuss it all . . . In fact, set it up with him and his team, we can brainstorm . . . Okay. Transfer me back to Andrea . . ." He waits, staring out the window, master of his universe, looking down at the little people below from this castle in the sky. "Andrea . . ."

Glancing up, he notices me on screen for the first time. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his lovely face, and I'm rendered speechless as my insides melt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man on the planet, too beautiful for the little people below, and far too beautiful for me. _At_ _least for now, he is sort of mine_. The idea sends a thrill through my blood and dispels my irrational self-doubt.

He continues his conversation, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I'll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour . . . Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude every day this week . . . Tell him to wait . . . Oh . . . No, I don't want publicity for Darfur . . . Tell Sam to deal with it . . . No . . . Which event? . . . That's next Saturday? . . . Hold on."

"When will you be back from Texas?" he asks.

"Friday."

He resumes his phone conversation.

"I'll need an extra ticket because I'm bringing Miss Anastasia Steele as my date . . . Yes, Andrea, that's what I said, a date, Miss Anastasia Steele will accompany me as Leila won't be in town . . . That's all." He hangs up. "Good morning, Miss Steele."

"Mr. Grey." I smile shyly.

He sits down at his desk with his usual grace and tilts his head to the side.

"I wanted to call, but I didn't want to wake you, you always look so peaceful when you sleep. Did you sleep well?"

"I'm feeling very well rested, thank you. I just wanted to call and say hi before I had a shower."

I gaze at him, drinking him in like a fine well-aged wine.

"Well, sleep seems to agree with you," he murmurs. "I suggest you go and have your shower, or shall I imagine what we would be doing across my desk if you were here?"

"I choose the desk," I whisper recklessly as a hefty mixture of adrenaline and desire sweeps through my veins, waking everything in its path.

He stares at me, looking bewildered for just a millisecond before he seems to gather himself.

"You're becoming insatiable," he murmurs.

"I've only got a taste for you," I whisper.

His eyes widen and darken while his hand grazes along his jawline, his thumb skirting over his lip as he's in deep thought.

"Damn right, only me," he growls, and suddenly, with one fluid movement, he's leaning back in his chair, unbuckling his pants, and unleashing his thick erection. As he begins fisting his length with a hungry look in his eye he practically growls. "Show me, baby," he instructs, "Show me how wet you are."

With a shiver down my spine, I lean back on the couch and spread my legs, showing him my pantiless core.

"You want it, you got it, baby," he mutters. "Touch yourself, Little One. Take two fingers and run them down your pretty little pussy lips." He lets out a guttural moan as he watches me follow his instructions with attentive ease. "Good girl. Now imagine I'm there with you and slide your fingers deep into your warmth baby girl. That's it, play with yourself for me," he breathes, a salacious smile across his face. And in that moment, it's as if he's filling me, thrusting into me deeply.

I groan . . . _Oh, yes._

"Christ, Ana. You're so ready," he whispers in veneration.

Spreading my legs further, I work my fingers in and out and I watch as he stares at me, gray eyes glowing, passionate and possessive as he works his cock to the motion of me fucking myself, all for him. This is not making love, this is pure fucking spurred on my unadulterated lust—and I love it. The emotions swimming around us are so raw and carnal, that as I revel in the heat of his possession, I let out a pathetic whimper. He continues to move with ease, enjoying his view, enjoying me, his lips slightly parted as his breathing becomes labored. He twists his hips from side to side, and I wiggle my hips in time.

I close my eyes, feeling the build up—that delicious, slow, climbing build. Pushing me higher, higher like a wave about to hit shore. His strokes increase fractionally and I moan audibly—lost in a sensation that is all for him. I revel in the touch of every delicious dip of my fingers, every push that fills me. Suddenly he picks up the pace, stroking faster . . . harder . . . and my whole body is moving to his rhythm. Under his sweet command I can feel my legs stiffening, and my insides quivering and quickening as I come close to crashing over the tipping point.

"Come on, baby, give it up for me," he cajoles through gritted teeth, and the fervent need in his voice—the strain—sends me over the edge.

I cry out a wordless, passionate plea as I touch the water and drown, falling around my own fingers, falling down, back to a breathless, bright summit on Earth. He grips his thick length tightly and abruptly stops pumping his cock as he reaches his climax, pulling at the head once before sinking into his chair and wordlessly coming all over his shirt-clad chest.

 _Wow . . ._ that was unexpected.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" he breathes. "You completely beguile me, Ana. You're weaving some powerful magic."

He releases his cock and rests his hands on his thighs as I relax the muscles in my legs, keeping my core on display for him.

"I'm the one beguiled," I whisper.

He gazes at me, his expression is disconcerted, alarmed even. Placing his hands on either side his computer screen he shakes his head.

"You. Are. Mine," he says, each word a staccato. "Do you understand?"

He's so earnest, so impassioned. The force of his plea is so unexpected and disarming that I have to wonder why he's feeling like this. "Yes, yours," I whisper, derailed by his fervor.

"Are you sure you have to go to Texas?"

I nod slowly. And in that brief moment, I watch his expression change and the shutters come down back across his eyes.

"Are you sore?" he asks, studying the wetness between my legs.

"A little," I confess.

"I like you sore," His eyes smolder. "Reminds you where I've been and only me."

"Don't you know I'm only yours?"

"A man can hope, Anastasia, dream even, and sometimes his dreams come true."

He sounds so odd, his eyes burning. I just don't understand. My post-coital glow is fading fast, his mood changing quickly enough to give me whiplash. _What is his problem?_

"So, video call, that's been a dream?" I ask dryly, trying humor to lighten the atmosphere between us.

He smiles an enigmatic smile that doesn't exactly reach his eyes, and I know immediately this is not the first time he's had sex on a call like this. The thought is unwelcome and I squirm uncomfortably as my post-coital glow evaporates.

"I'd better go and have a shower," I say, closing my legs and distorting his view.

He frowns and runs a hand through his hair.

"I've got a couple more calls to make."

"Why aren't you at work yet?"

For a brief moment, I swear I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, but just as soon as it's there, it's gone.

"I overslept after having more than a few drinks last night. I've actually got a bit of a headache, but nothing coffee won't cure. Plus, I have my yearly physical scheduled at noon," he replies, but there's an edge to his voice.

"What?" he asks, and I realize I'm frowning.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well . . . you're being more weird than usual."

"You find me weird?" He tries to stifle a smile.

"Sometimes."

He regards me for a moment, his eyes speculative. "As ever, I'm surprised by you, Miss Steele."

"Surprised how?"

"Let's just say that was an unexpected treat."

"We aim to please, Mr. Grey." I cock my head to one side like he often does to me and hand his words back to him.

"And please me you do," he says, but he looks uneasy. "I thought you were going to have a shower."

 _Is he dismissing me after asking me not to go?_

"Yes . . . um, I'll see you later then?"

At his sharp nod, I scurry and end the call, feeling completely dumbfounded.

He seemed confused. _Why?_ I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally—well, I'm rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.

The tea kettle goes off and as if it's scolding me, I quickly pick it up and set it aside with a scowl. Stubbornly, I head for the shower. If Christian was going to act childish, then I could too.

Fuck breakfast.

Take that, Christian Grey.

 **A** **Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **Next update might not be until sometime this weekend. I'll be busy and I plan on doing some light editing to previous chapters. It's for grammar spacial issues in the formatting because I've been writing on my iphone rather than on my laptop.**

 **Remember to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed or to join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more.**

 **Recommended FanFiction:** A Private Dance by storietella2

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	10. Chapter 8

**Reviews from Chapter 7:**

 **daytonalay:** Christian has eyes for his Little One and Elliot is such a dependable brother. Leila is not to be trusted. As for Ana, she only has eyes for her Sir. 

**Guest #1:** APD has torn my heart in two and my next recommendation has done the same. Happy to see you're enjoying PBL so much, your heart will one day be prepared!

 **Guest #2 #3:** You're both quite right that Christian's actions are screaming guilty. 

**MrsAnastasiaGrey:** Funny you ask. This book will contain around 20 chapters in total with (drumroll please) a POV from the one and only Christian Grey in the next chapter! The next book will also contain around 20 chapters making a total of 40ish chapters for the entire series. Oh, the lies that are weaved and the stories they will tell . . .

 **motherbeatrice:** You may be onto something . . .

 **Songs:**

 ** _I Have Questions_ by Camila Cabello**

 **and**

 ** _Like I Did_ by Shane Harper**

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

It's nearing three-thirty in the afternoon when I find myself waiting for my second interview of the day. I nervously shift in my seat, waiting in the lobby of Seattle Independent Publishing for a Mr. J. Hyde.

I find that I'm far more nervous for this interview than I was with the first. While my first interview went well, I knew that being one of many editorial assistants in a national company would guarantee a fall through the cracks. I didn't want to be chewed up and spat out. SIP was _it_.

Where the other company was a conglomerate of corporate chaos, SIP was the alternative. They championed local authors—which I one day hoped to be—instead of fighting for the big fish, and their roster of clients were far more intriguing and unique.

My ball of nerves finds me studying my sparse surroundings. The design statement stands out in the seemingly relaxed environment—giving off the signal that all is warm and welcomed. I sit on one of two forest green chesterfield couches made of a fine leather—much like the red leather of Christian's—our—playroom. I run the edge of my nail along the leather with a newfound appreciation, wondering idly when Christian will take me upon the red surface of the playroom couch. It was built and placed for an array of possibilities. The man was creative as he was the Master of his Universe. _Th_ _e_ _supplies from Clayton's? Rope? Tape? More zip ties?_ No. _No_. I couldn't—wouldn't—go there.

My eyes stray towards the front desk where the young woman with large silver earrings and dark, straight, waist length hair. Her bohemian styled top gives her an approachable look, and I imagine if this job works out as I hope, that we could become good friends.

The idea is comforting considering the sterile look of GEH that I've grown accustomed to over the years. As if reading my mind, she glances at up me, away from her computer, and gives me a reassuring smile—stifling my nerves as I return her smile.

I cross my right ankle over my left as I begin to once again go over my mental checklist of everything I have done to get ready for my trip.

My flight to Texas is booked—my grandmother seemed pleased that I'm taking the weekend to visit after telling me that she's recently been very sick—I'm packed, and Kate has said that she'll drive me to the airport. Christian has reminded me to bring both my BlackBerry and my MacBook. The man is completely overbearing, but that's truly just the way he's programmed. He enjoys taking control in every situation, and over every person around him—including me.

Yet there are times when he's beyond mercurial. With the flip of a switch he can become disarmingly agreeable.

 _Agreeable_ , I withhold my snort.

Then, he shows just how compassionate, good-humored, and just how lovely he can be. And when he shows that hidden side of his heart, it's more than unexpected because of just how much I value it.

Like when he insisted on accompanying me to my door last night. He was acting as if I'm going away for weeks instead of mere days. He always keeps me off balance and admittedly, I quite like it that way.

"Ana Steele?" A woman standing by the reception desk with long, black, hair distracts me from my sudden rumination. Right away I notice that she's at least in her late thirties—if not her forties—and she appears to have the same bohemian style as the receptionist. However, it's her cool hazel eyes that chill me to the core as she considers me.

"Yes," I reply, standing awkwardly from my spot on the couch.

She gives me a polite smile as she continues to assess me in my interview outfit of the day. I'm wearing a gray knee length pencil skirt, a white blouse paired with a blush pink cardigan, and my low dark burgundy heels. An outfit that Christian Grey himself would approve of. My hair is even restrained in a tight bun, and for once my ever-escaping tendrils are on their best behavior.

With a practiced smile, she holds her hand out.

"Hello, Ana, my name's Elizabeth Morgan. I'm the head of human resources here at SIP."

"How do you do?" I shake her hand.

"Please follow me."

As we go through the double doors right behind the reception area into a large bright open-floor office, I note that she's dressed very casually to be the head of human resources. We head into a small meeting room where the walls are a pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the maple conference table sits a man not much older than Christian, with pale red hair. He wears a light blue shirt, no tie, and stone washed chinos. For a brief moment, I'm almost attracted to him. That is, until I approach him, where he stands and gazes at me with dark blue eyes that are almost abysmal.

"Ana Steele, I'm Jack Hyde, the acquisitions editor here at SIP, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

When we shake hands, his dark eyes shift into something indecipherable, though his facial expression remains friendly. _At least I think it is. There's something . . ._

"Have you traveled far?" he asks pleasantly.

"No, I've just recently moved to the Pike Street Market area."

"Oh, not far at all then," he looks almost pleased. "Please, have a seat."

I sit, and note that Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.

"So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, _Ana_?" he asks.

I can't help but flush. He says my name ever-so-softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know—it's _unnervingly familiar_ It reminds me of someone—only I can't put my finger on _who_ Attempting to do my best to ignore the groundless lack of trust that his presence stirs, I launch into my carefully prepared speech. I do my best to look at both of them, remembering the Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique lecture: _Maintain eye contact, Steele!_ As well as the Christian Grey Mantra: _In the working world you need to show that you're confident but levelheaded. Keep your chin up, Ana_. Lord, they can both be so bossy. Jack and Elizabeth both listen attentively as I droll on.

"You have a very impressive GPA. What extracurricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?"

 _Indulge?_ I blink at him, momentarily perplexed by his odd choice of word. I launch into the boring details of my librarianship at the campus central library— _Hmm, I wonder if Dom Christian would be willing to play professor?_ —and my one and only experience of interviewing for the student newspaper. _Thank you, Mr. Grey._ I gloss over the fact that I didn't actually write the article. _Thank you, Kate_. I mention the not one, but two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with my history of working at Clayton's and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY. They share an amused look while they laugh and I find myself relaxing, knowing that I'm receiving the exact response I'd hoped for. _Plus, it_ _doesn't_ _hurt that the knowledge of hardware is going to be quite helpful in the Red Room of Pain._

Jack Hyde keeps at it, asking sharp, intelligent questions at every turn. I never waver—I stay on task, answering each question with precision and sharp wit. When Jack asks about my reading preferences, I declare myself a lover of the classics—Charlotte and Emily Brontë, Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf. When he asks about my favorite books, I declare my fondness for Shakespeare, Poe, and Jane Austen—bravely holding my own.

Jack, however, insists that he only cares for American literature written after 1950. Not one thing more. Not a classic—not even F. Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth stays oddly silent, nodding when appropriate and taking notes. Jack continues his argumentative ways, occasionally flashing a charming smile my way as if to ease my initial wariness. I try my best to convince myself that in the beginning it was my nerves talking. That there's not something peculiar about him. But no matter how hard I try, the feeling never dissipates.

"And where do you see yourself in five years' time?" he asks.

 _At Christian Grey's side_. My mind seems to be playing mercy, allowing the involuntarily thought to seep in unbidden.

"Perhaps, copyediting. Or a literary agent, I'm not sure. I am open to opportunities in Seattle or otherwise."

He grins. "Very good to hear, Ana. I don't have any further questions. Do you have any for me?"

"When would you like someone to start?" I ask.

"As soon as possible," Elizabeth says directly. "When could you start Ana?"

"I'm available starting next week."

"That's good to know," Jack says.

"If that's all everyone has to say"—Elizabeth glances at the two of us—"I believe that concludes the interview for today." She smiles.

We all stand and Jack takes my hand, squeezing it in his grip.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Ana," Jack says softly.

I blink up at him as I say goodbye, feeling a distinct shiver of unease down my spine until he finally releases my hand.

I'm feeling perturbed as I make my way to my shiny new car, though I'm not clear as to why. The interview seemed to go well in my favor. Then again, Elizabeth Morgan was so difficult to read that it's really hard to say just how well it actually went.

Interviews themselves are only artificial situations set up to get a read on people. Everyone is desperately hiding behind a mask of professionalism as they act on their best behavior.

Though Jack Hyde was the exception. The man peeked my interest—but not sexually. Instead, I had questions. Questions I wouldn't be able to ask Christian because if would only spark his hot temper.

Yet I couldn't help but wonder if asking Christian for information about _him_ would set the clock in motion.

As I climb into my cherry red Audi A3, I pause at the sight of a lanky brunette standing outside and off to the side of the building for SIP. She stands staring straight ahead as the gruff looking man in front of her—with a baseball cap over his eyes—begins to wave his arms frantically. For the briefest of moments I swear our eyes meet before her gaze breaks from mine—and then, she's gone like a leaf in the wind.

With a shake of my head, I start the car and make my way home to the apartment, taking my sweet time to enjoy my car and my opportunity of peace and quiet. With a red-eye and a stopover in Salt Lake City, my flight doesn't leave until 10:25 this evening. So, I've got a tank of gas and time to kill.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Kate is in the middle of the kitchen unpacking boxes when I walk into the apartment. As she pulls a stack of plates out and sets them on the counter I can't help but admire just how gorgeous she looks in a washed-out red, oversized t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans with her blonde hair pulled back with a dark blue bandana.

"How did your interviews go?" she asks, excitedly.

"Good, thank you. Although, my outfit might have been a little out of place for the second interview, " I muse.

"How so?"

"If I'd worn that flowy skirt I was obsessed with our freshman gear of college and a peasant blouse I might have fit the bill."

Kate raises an eyebrow at me as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"You might be able to pull that off." She grins deviously and tilts her head to the side, "Although, if Christian saw that outside of GEH he'd freak. I think the plum dress was more his style. Along with the heels."

Ignoring her comment with a roll of my eyes, I continue on.

"Either way, the first place sucked and I really ended up liking the second. I think I could thrive there—even if the guy who interviewed me was a bit . . . off."

"Off?"

"It was probably just my nerves," I mumble—remembering that I'm talking to the tenacious Katherine Kavanagh. This tidbit of information will somehow make its way back to Leila—or worse, Christian.

"Are you sure? Did he interview you alone? Was he in HR?" she asks, firing off question after question. "Maybe you should talk to Christian and have him look into the company."

" _That_ is exactly what I _don't_ want. You have a back for feeding both Christian and Leila personal information at some of the most inopportune moments," I rant. "Which reminds me—will you please stop winding them both up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was completely out of line. You know that it doesn't do any one of us any good."

"Look, if he wasn't Elliot's brother and Leila's husband, I would have said a lot worse. He's a complete control freak. Frankly, I don't know how you or your sister can stand it, " she says while holding her hands up defensively.

At my look of disbelief she sighs.

"Okay, fine! You want the honest truth?" she asks—at least having the decency to look embarrassed. "I was trying to make him jealous—to give him a little help with the evident commitment issues he's facing. But if it's that important to you, I won't interfere."

"Good, because my life is complicated enough without you meddling in it. Trust me," I say dryly.

Late closes the distance between us with a cautionary step.

"Ana." She pauses, staring at me with deep concern. "You're okay, right? You're not running off to Texas to escape?"

"No. I just felt like you were right. I need a break and talking to my grandmother only confirmed my plans. Getting away for a few days will be good for me."

In a move that is out-of-character, Kate takes my hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't know how to explain it Ana, but you're . . . different. I just hope you're okay. I hope you know that you cam talk to me about whatever issues you're having with Leila—with Christian. I'm going to try my best not to wind either of them up. Although quite frankly, it's like shooting a fish in a barrel with him. He's so easy to antagonize," she pauses and shakes her head. "Ana, if something's wrong, please tell me. I'll never judge you. I'll do my best to understand."

"Where is all of this coming from?" I ask as tears threaten to spill.

"I think you're in over your head and I think you have been for some time. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I'm your best friend. That comes before Leila—you have to know that."

I blink back my tears. "Oh, Kate." I hug her, feeling as if the floodgates of the last three years are about to burst open. "I think I've really fallen for him. I think I did a long time ago."

"Ana, anyone can see that of they look hard enough. It's plain as day. And he's fallen for you, too. He's mad about you. Completely crazy, if I'm honest. The man won't take his eyes off you for more than two seconds."

I laugh uncertainly at her remark. "Kate, he's married to my sister."

"Hasn't he told you how he feels?"

"No, not in so many words," I murmur, feeling ashamed that he's not spoken a word of it to me.

"Have you told him how you feel?"

"Not in so many words." I shrug, apologetically.

 _How could I tell him what I truly wanted when it wasn't supposed to turn out this way?_

"Ana!" she scolds. "Someone has to make the first move, otherwise, you're stuck. Nothing will ever change if you don't tell each other how you really feel."

"You don't understand, Kate."

"What is it that I don't understand?"

"I'm just the woman he's having an affair with. His side-piece. His mistress."

"That's all bullshit and you know it, Steele. Tell me how you really feel."

I stare at her for a few silent moments before my voice comes out as a whisper.

"I'm afraid I'll scare him away."

"And how do you know he's not feeling the same way?"

"Christian, afraid?" I snort. "I can't imagine Christian Grey being afraid of anything."

But deep down, I know my words are a lie. As a small child, he was afraid. From what I know, fear was all he knew before the Grey's adopted him. Of course, sorrow grips my soul as I imagine that at one point—before he was brainwashed—he was afraid when in the depths of Mrs. Robinson's dungeon.

When I shake away my brooding reverie I find that Kate is gazing at me through narrowed eyes.

"What is it?"

"I think he is afraid. Just not of his feelings. I know what he wants."

"Despite thinking that you know what he wants, you need to sit down and talk to each other."

"Well, we don't do much talking when we're together, " I flush. "Nonverbal communication is typically our forte."

She grins salaciously. "I cant believe you're not really a virgin. I take it the sex is good?"

"More than good, " I gush.

"Well then, that's half the battle. The next step is to confess your love for each other. Then we'll work on Step Two."

"Step Two?"

"Getting rid of your evil half-sister. Duh."

"Let's worry about the first one. I don't even know if telling him will do any good. It could ruin everything."

"Well, we can come up with a plan of seduction over dinner. I'll grab some Chinese takeout for tonight. You're all packed and ready to go, right?"

"Almost. We have time, I don't have to leave for a few hours."

"Then I'll pick it up in say, about two hours?" Quietly, I agree and she opens another box, getting back to work. With a sigh, I head off to my bedroom, mulling over her words and advice.

 _Does Christian even have feelings for me? If he does, is he afraid to admit it? Is he afraid of what it means?_

He seems dedicated. He had an entire penthouse designed for us. He claims I belong to him—but that is more than likely just part of his role as a Dominant.

 _My Dominant._

I realize that even if Kate comes up with some extravagant plan, it won't work. Christian wouldn't react well to mind games. Even if they were in the form of seduction.

While I'm away, I resolve to run through our recent conversations to see if there are any signs.

 _You were mine, right at that moment._

 _You completely beguile me, Ana._

 _Nymph._

 _Little One._

I shake my head, not wanting to think about it all now. I find the BlackBerry on the charger where I left it all afternoon and approach it with caution.

After this morning, I'm a little more than disappointed that there isn't one single message waiting for me.

Opening the laptop, I also find zero emails. _It's not like I've gotten a different email address_ —but this morning was so . . . _weird_.

Yet the man expected to know how my interviews went. With a roll of my eyes—that leaves me realizing why Christian wants to spank me for said action—I begin to write him an email.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Interviews

Date: May 30 2011 16:49

To: Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

I thought you might be interested in knowing that my interviews went very well today.

How was your day?

Ana

I sit and glare at the screen as I await a response. A response that was normally instantaneous. I wait . . . and wait, and finally, I hear the welcoming ping.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: My Day

Date: May 30 2011 17:03

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

Everything you do interests me. You are simply the most, fascinating woman I know.

I'm glad your interviews went well.

My morning was beyond all expectations.

My afternoon was very dull in comparison and I'd very much like for you to make time to stop by Escala before your flight leaves.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Fine Morning

Date: May 30 2011 17:05

To: Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

The morning was quite impeccable for me, too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the flawless Skype sex we so promiscuously engaged in. Don't think I didn't notice.

Thank you for the interview tips in previous weeks, btw. They proved to be most helpful.

I'd like to ask you questions about such an impromptu invite to _Escala_ —without you weirding out on me yet again.

Ana

My finger hovers over the "send" button, and I am reassured that I'll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Publishing and You?

Date: May 30 2011 17:10

To: Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

"Weirding" is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Consider that another useful tip. Flawless? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask me about telling you to come here? It was an order, Miss Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: You and Your Orders

Date: May 30 2011 17:17

To: Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. Something you should be well aware of considering that you're both a health nut and the Master of your so-called Universe.

Flawless—compared to the other times we have . . . what's your favorite word . . . oh yes . . . _fucked_. Actually, in my humble opinion, the fucking has always been pretty flawless—but then, as you know, I have very limited experience.

You were my first as you are my only.

Is Leila there?

Ana

My finger once again, hovers over the "send" button, and I press it.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!

Date: May 30 2011 17:22

To: Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

Leila is busy at the moment. If it really interests you, I believe she is out shopping.

However, Elliot is due for a visit soon. Although, that has nothing to do with my—as you put it—impromptu request.

I am glad you have limited experience. Under my watchful eye, your experience will continue to be limited—just to me. I shall take flawless as a compliment—though I worry your sense of irony is shining through. As per usual, you have completely beguiled me, Miss Steele.

Get your ass over here. Now.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., from His Ivory Tower

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Not for All the Tea in China

Date: May 30 2011 17:27

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

If I'm to meet you, I suppose I must leave now, but I don't have long as Kate is supposed to pick up our feast of Chinese takeout. We plan on having some girl gall before my flight leaves. My glorious sense of irony and I bid you adieu.

I will be there shortly.

Sir.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?

Date: May 30 2011 17:29

To: Anastasia Steele

I won't keep you long, Anastasia.

In case I forget: I hope you and your glorious sense of irony have a safe flight this evening.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

After making an excuse to Kate about picking up a few last minute items on my packing list, I pull up into _Escala's_ parking garage just a mere fifteen minutes later.

I rather quickly grab my purse and lock my car behind me as I make my way to the elevator.

A few moments later I walk into the foyer of _Escala_ and wait for just a moment, listening for Leila until Taylor appears before me.

"Miss Steele, Mr. Grey is waiting in his office for your arrival."

Frowning, I briefly thank Taylor before making my way to Christian's office. it wasn't all that unusual for him to be in there, but usually, when it comes to impromptu visits, he always makes a point to meet me at the elevator.

Once at his door, I find it open and he doesn't even bother to look up as I knock.

"Anastasia. Close the door behind you."

I do as he says and nervously make my way into his office, bearing caution.

"Hi."

"Tell me, Anastasia. Do I look like a fool to you?"

His tone catches me off guard as he continues to work, typing away on his computer at a furious pace.

"Excuse me?"

"I won't repeat myself, Anastasia. It's a simple question."

My heart races in bewilderment as I take a timid step towards his desk.

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"

"I had my yearly physical today."

"So you mentioned this morning," I pause, looking at him curiously. "What does that have to do with me?"

His fast-paced fingers come to a halt and he steeples his fingers together underneath his chin.

"Well, I was mighty intrigued when the doctor informed me I had a sexually transmitted disease."

My heart nearly ceases at his words.

"What?" I breathe before I begin to stutter my disbelief. "H-How . . . Y-You . . ."

Christian stands swiftly, bracing his hands on his desk as he glares at me with his gray eyes—gray eyes that swirl with the ash and smoke of a fire burning deep within his soul.

"Don't play me for a fool, Miss. Steele. When did you do it? Was it before the bar scene when that photographer fucker shoved his tongue down your throat? Or was it after when you were moving and I couldn't be there?"

"C-Christian," I stutter, "I wouldn't—I didn't. Why would I do something like that to you? What would I have to gain?"

"What would you have to lose? Unless of course, I found out—which I have. Leila was right, you're just money hungry and jealous."

Tears spring into my eyes as I stare at him in pure disbelief.

If he had any kind of sexually transmitted disease or infection, it certainly wasn't from me. Which meant it came from Leila or worse— _some other woman_.

"You're the one who's lying. How can you stand here and accuse me of cheating on you when you're evidently sleeping with your wife?" I snap, feeling as if my legs are going to give out from beneath me. "I've never slept with anyone but you, Christian."

"Anastasia—"

"No!" I tremble. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

He doesn't answer me—hell, he doesn't even have the decency to look at me—as he opens a drawer on his desk and pulls out a slip of paper.

"As angry as I am, I made you an appointment with Dr. Greene. It's in thirty minutes, so I suggest you get going. But before you do, here's a check for your car."

He slides the piece of paper across his desk and then sits down, returning to his work without sparing me even a small glance.

I stare down at the check, feeling numb from head to toe as I swallow the vomit threatening to inch it's way up my throat.

 _$124,000.00_

"Somehow I don't think you got quite that much for it," I grit out.

"I thought that amount would appease you after almost three years of work."

The words are like a slap across my face and my entire body begins to quiver as if I've been cast out in the bitter cold.

"I'm not your paid whore, Christian," I say thickly.

"In case you were confused, this is over," he says in a clipped tone. "You can show yourself out."

His words sting and with all the emotional strength I can muster, I take the check in both hands—effectively tearing it into two pieces, before slamming it down on the wooden surface of his desk.

"Fuck you," I snarl.

Turning around, I match towards the door and slam it open—startling myself when I discover Elliot standing on the other side, his arm limply hanging mid-air as if he was getting ready to knock.

"Ana Banana!" he says excitedly and then he stops as he studies my face. "What's going on?" His eyes dart to Christian, who still sits at his desk, ignoring our presence as if we don't even exist.

"I was just leaving," I choke out.

Looking completely taken aback, he studies me, "Banana, what's wrong?" Then he looks back at Christian, "What did you do?"

Adjusting my purse as it hangs from my shoulder, I remember something. I wipe at my eyes and take a deep breath as I manage to gather my strength.

"Elliot, do you think you could give me a ride?"

"Yes, of course," he says worriedly. "But not until—"

"You have your car," Christian snarls.

Not bothering to turn around, I pull the keys from my purse and I take the key fob off the chain before tossing them to the dark wooden floor behind me.

"Not anymore, I don't."

Looking slightly alarmed, Elliot follows me as I make my way out of Christian's office, and to the elevator in the foyer.

"Banana, what just happened? Did I really just witness you and Christian breaking up?"

"Please don't," I murmur, "I need you to drop me off somewhere. I'll catch a cab back to the apartment."

Without a word, Elliot nods as we walk onto the awaiting elevator. For just a mere second, my eyes catch the sad glimpse of my favorite gray-eyed man before the moment that the doors close. As the elevator starts it's decent a cry—raw like an open wound—breaks through my chest. My body trembles and shakes as the ocean of misery washes upon me. Then, like the saint he is, Elliot pulls me into his arms and lets me sob my heart and soul out onto the fabric of his t-shirt.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

When we pull up in front of Dr. Greene's office twenty minutes later, Elliot looks at me with concern.

"Ana, you're not—"

"I'm not pregnant," I sigh, "Christian . . . I'll be okay."

"I'm coming inside with you."

"Elliot, no."

"Yes, Ana Banana. Kate would have my balls for not supporting you. Let me come with. You're clearly upset and you shouldn't be alone."

Finding that he's certain of his decision I nod my head resiliently.

"Fine, let's go."

Making my way inside Dr. Greene's office with Elliot on my tail, I stop dead in my tracks when a familiar head of brunette hair makes its way to the reception desk.

I stop Elliot from going any further, by holding my arm out in front of him.

"What the fuck-!"

When my hand covers his mouth he raises his eyebrows at me incredulously.

"Listen!" I hiss, nodding my head toward the front desk.

"The doctor gave me a prescription, I was just wondering about getting a prescription for my boyfriend."

"He'll need to make an appointment, ma'am."

"But he doesn't know and I don't know how to tell him."

"It's against our policy, but I suppose you could try talking to Dr. Greene about it."

Leila sighs and picks the slip of paper up off the counter.

"Thanks," she sneers.

As she makes her way toward the doors, I pull Elliot around the corner and out of sight.

"What was Leila doing here?" Elliot asks once she's on the elevator, "And what is the prescription for if she wants one for Christian?"

"It wasn't for Christian," I say quietly. "She said she wanted the prescription for her boyfriend."

Elliot opens his mouth as if to say something and then quickly closes it, frowning.

Letting out a deep breath, I walk through the doors into the office and up to the reception desk.

"I have an appointment."

"Name?"

"Anastasia Steele."

"Oh! Miss Steele, I'm supposed to show you right back, please follow me."

Casting a pleading look toward Elliot, he follows behind like the faithful friend he is.

Once in the room the receptionist says, "Go ahead and have a seat on the table. Dr. Greene will be with you in a moment," and then she closes the door over.

Several moments of silence lapse before Elliot asks the question I've been dreading.

"She picked up an STD and gave it to my brother who gave it to you, am I right?"

"He's claiming I gave it to him, but yes. You're right, " I reply quietly.

"He just told you—lied to you—about not having sex with Leila in over a year."

"I know," I murmur—realizing Elliot did, in fact, hear the whole thing. "Don't remind me."

"So she's cheating on him."

"Yes."

"And he lied to you."

"Yes."

"And blamed you."

"Yes, Elliot," I hiss.

He scoffs. "What a fucking hypocrite."

"Miss Steele?"

"Yes?"

A tall, blonde, elegant looking woman walks into the room and stretches her hand out in greeting.

"I'm Dr. Greene. I understand you're here because your boyfriend was diagnosed with an STD earlier today." She casts a suspicious look at Elliot.

"Yes, but my friend is just here for support," I pause. "Um, my ex-boyfriend told me about his diagnosis this afternoon, but I'm unsure of what kind of STD he has—only that he caught it from someone else. He's been my only sexual partner for three years, but he has another. I believe his wife was in just a while ago—seeking treatment."

Dr. Greene's eyes widen ever-so-slightly in recognition as she looks at Elliot—who happens to be wearing a Grey Construction T-shirt.

"I see. Well, let's give you a quick exam and see if we can figure this out."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Twenty minutes later, I'm once again dressed as Elliot and Dr. Greene return to the room.

"The good news is that you're showing no serious signs or symptoms, " she smiles. "I've rushed the urine sample and will email you the results as soon as I receive them on whether or not you have Chlamydia. However, as a precaution, I've written you a prescription and I want you to start taking it tonight.

It's best you refrain from any sexual intercourse for the time being and once you've finished your prescription I would like to see you again to discuss your new birth control options. Do you have any questions?"

"No, thank you. You've been very helpful, Dr. Greene."

"It's my job, Miss Steele. However, I will just say that it's very good to see no oral infection."

With those words, she smiles, nods, and leaves the room.

Her words hang in the air as Elliot and I look at one another and he cocks his head to the side in wonder.

"Did she just give you a hint about Leila?" he asks.

"I think she did," I frown—and with that, I let out a sigh. "Let's get out of here."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at the Sea-Tac Airport departure terminal an hour before my flight leaves.

Leaning across the console, she gives me a long hug.

"I want you to enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful vacation."

"I want you to have a good time, too. I'm just worried about you. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine, I promise. Please don't waste your vacation worrying about me. I want you to have the time of your life falling in love with Elliot. Got it?"

"I've got it," she laughs. "I'll see you when I get back. Don't let moneybags get you down."

"I won't."

"Call me if you need me."

After getting my luggage out—a carry-on as I couldn't be bothered with an actual suitcase—we hug once more before she climbs into her car, leaving me on my own.

I head over to check-in, holding onto my carry-on luggage as I stand in line.

The young man behind the desk looks dreadfully bored as he holds up his hand without even looking at me.

"Ticket, please?"

Mirroring his attitude, I hand over my ticket and my driver's license as ID. As I wait, I glance out at the dreary sky—one that resembles my inner feelings—and hope that I'm lucky enough to get a window seat.

"Okay, Miss Steele. It looks like you've been upgraded to first class."

"What?"

He beams at me like I'm Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy all rolled into one as he shakes . "If you'd like to go through to the first class lounge and wait for your flight there . . ."

"There has to be some kind of mistake."

"No, no." He checks his computer screen again. "There's been no mistake. Anastasia Steele—upgrade." He grins.

I let out a huff in frustration and narrow my eyes as he hands me my boarding pass, before heading towards the first class lounge—muttering under my breath along the way.

 _That damned Christian Grey. Without a doubt he is the most frustrating man—an interfering control freak—he just can't leave it alone._

I only wonder when this occurred—before or after he broke up with me?

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **I've been beyond busy so please excuse the late post!**

 **Remember to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or to join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more.**

 **Recommended FanFiction:** Fantasy With a Felon by QueenBee03

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	11. Chapter 9

Reviews from Chapter 8:

Shasha77: happy to see that someone is paying attention to the not-so-little details!

MrsAnastasiaGrey: are we all so lucky to literally be flies on the wall for that upcoming conversation?!

Sammyantha-Stump: Ana won't be too forgiving . . . but then again, who really is?

peachesgo: please don't skip! There are times when there's important details within a chapter that you won't want to miss. Besides, Ana may be committing one of the biggest sins but I guarantee there is someone doing something way worse . . .

Brennanite025: Christian is definitely a colossal jerk. But while Christian may be hiding something, there are other people who are just as guilty

Songs:

Gone by Bebe RexhaandConsequences by Camila Cabello

 _The big man is back again and Mommy is sleeping. Or maybe she's sick._

 _I hide, curling into a ball under the table. My fingers over my eyes, I see Mommy sleeping on the couch. She's on her tummy like she is when she has a tummy ache. Her hand is down on the green fuzzy rug holding her empty bag of medicine._

 _The mean man is wearing his stomp boots with the big shiny buckle that jingles when he walks._

 _"Wake up, Ella!"_

 _The mean man pulls out his belt and starts to hit Mommy._

 _"Get up you fucked up bitch!"_

 _ **Whack!**_

 _"Get up bitch! You dirty good-for-nothing whore! You and your little Maggot causin' me nothin' but problems!"_

 _Mommy shakes as she cries, covering her head with her hands._

 _"I just need one more."_

 _"You ain't gettin' nothin' you fucked up whore! Get your ass up, Ella! Or should I find Maggot?"_

 _Mommy cries as the belt hits her skin, but she doesn't scream. She tucks her knees under her chin._

 _I cover my ears as the belt snaps, and then I close my eyes._

 ** _Stop._**

 ** _Stop._**

 ** _Stop._**

 _The belt stops._

 _The stomp boots squeak before they stomp into the kitchen._

 ** _No._**

 ** _No._**

 ** _No._**

 _He stoops down and grins at me._

 _"There you are, Maggot."_

 _His breath stinks like those sticks out of the box with the camel and that brown juice._

 _"What? You got nothin' to say you little shit?"_

 _I stay still._

 _His hand reaches out and grabs my shirt, dragging me out from my hiding spot. He turns me into my tummy—right over his knee. I know what's coming._

 _"For every hour your Momma ain't workin' I'm gonna beat your ass, you little shit!"_

 _The belt whoosh's through the air—_

I spine-chilling wail wakes me.

 _Fuck!_

I'm drenched in sweat—panting—my heart racing a mile a minute.

Another nightmare after a night without Ana.

 _My Little One is gone._

I glance at the clock finding it's just after midnight. She's on the plane—she has been for a little over an hour and a half.

I take a deep breath, attempting to rid my mind and nostrils of the smell of the stale Camel cigarettes and the cheap bourbon the pimp loved so much.

Looking at the desk before me I see the pieces of the modeling kit laying scatter across the surface and the now empty bottle of Scotch rests beside them.

I run my hands down and over my face, rubbing the sleep from the corners of my eyes. Standing, I walk over to the bar and retrieve another bottle of scotch from the cabinet—not bothering with a glass.

I take a long swig as I walk the length of my office, gazing out the window at Seattle and the lights below. I stare down—wondering just how many days it will be until she's back in Seattle. If I can't see her this weekend, when?

 _You won't, you moron. She's not yours any longer—just as you are not hers._

I pull at the roots of my hair with one hand as I take a drink of bourbon with the left—catching my reflection in the window, my heart sinks.

 _What was I becoming?_ The woman had cheated on me with another individual. Man. Woman. It didn't matter at the end of the day. All that mattered, was that she had been unfaithful.

 _Hypocrite_.

As if the universe is playing some cruel joke on me, the sound of the elevator below announces my wife's arrival.

I turn on my heel, moving across the room to my desk to busy myself. I would build the model and hope that she had the sense to head straight to bed without stopping by my office.

As I work on putting some of the pieces together I find myself focusing on my earlier conversation with Elliot.

 _"You've really fucked up this time."_

 _The sight of my brother surprises me as he walks into my office carrying a brown cardboard box._

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _"You've really fucked it all up. I mean sure, I've always knew you liked to fuck shot up. It's why you got into so much trouble all through high school. You beat the shit out of anyone who even looked at you. But—"_

 _"Freshman year."_

 _"What?" he asks blankly._

 _"I stopped fighting after I was a Freshman. I turned fifteen and I didn't fight after that summer. Well, not often."_

 _"Right," he pauses, staring at me strangely for a few seconds before he continues. "Anyway. . . I'm used to seeing you fuck up. Even if it was eons ago. Yet somehow, you fucked it all up worse than ever before."_

 _"Just get on with it, Elliot."_

 _"You accused her of cheating on you."_

 _"She did cheat on me."_

 _"How do you know that for sure?"_

 _"She gave me a damn STD—Chlamydia! Chlamydia, El!"_

 _"And you swear that you didn't sleep with Leila?"_

 _"What? No. What does that have to do with Ana cheating?"_

 _Elliot finally drops the box on my desk and frowns in bewilderment._

 _"I sat with Ana at the doctor's office. She doesn't have Chlamydia, Christian."_

 _"That's not possible. I went for my yearly physical. The doctor said it looked as if the infection had just started. I hadn't even noticed it until this morning. I'm sure with your record you've had it once or twice."_

 _I pause, staring him down and feel my heart plummet at the realization._

 _"Why are you looking at me like that?_

 _"You slept with her, didn't you? You were down there with Katherine all the damn time. Except she wasn't putting out was she? So you slept with Ana. That's why you freaked out when you discovered she had someone in her room. You lying, cheating—"_

 _"Whoa! Slow the fuck down, Christian!" he yells, holding his hands up defensively. "One, I have never in my life slept with Ana. Two, I would never disrespect Katie that way. I love that girl. I have for a long time. One day, I plan on making her, my wife. Three, I was under the impression that Ana was a virgin. How could I possibly have slept with her?"_

 _"You've slept with anything in a skirt in a thousand mile radius!"_

 _"That brings me to my next point. I saw it. The morning of your wedding I teased you both. I told you that you had chosen the wrong sister. The mirth in your eyes that day . . ." I watch as he sighs and sadly shakes his head. "Four, you're my brother."_

 _"Like that's supposed to be enough? Look at what Ana has done to Leila."_

 _"Are you fucking kidding me? What Ana has done to Leila?" he scoffs. "Look at what Leila has done to Ana—to you!"_

 _"What are you talking about?" I ask incredulously._

 _"Well, there's the fact that Ana told us all about the fire the morning of your wedding. A fire that—may I remind you—Leila set. Or did you just happen to forget that little fact?"_

 _"I talked to Leila that day before the ceremony. She said that Ana started it for attention."_

 _"What about being drugged? Or nearly raped?"_

 _"She was jealous of Leila's boyfriends. She went after them all the time."_

 _"A girl in high school was going after college-aged guys and yet, she was still a virgin when she slept with you?"_

 _I feel the blood drain from my face as I sputter. "Just because she was fooling around with them doesn't mean—"_

 _"Do you realize how stupid you sound?"_

 _"She evidently has experience in screwing people over if she gave me a damn STD, Elliot! She deceived me this entire time! She's done plenty to Leila too."_

 _"Ana hasn't done anything to Leila—except sleep with you! Which was your choice you dumb fuck! If anything Leila has done more damage to Ana. She's the one who has the damn STD you fuck face!"_

 _My heart in my throat I stare at my brother like he's lost it._

 _"What did you just say?"_

 _"Leila has Chlamydia. Not Ana—Leila."_

 _"That's not—how—how do you know this?" I breathe._

 _"When Ana and I left, she asked for a ride to her uh—lady doctor."_

 _"Dr. Greene—I made the appointment for her."_

 _"Yeah! That was her name," he nods. "Anyway, I offered to go in with her. Honestly, I was thinking the worst. I thought she might be pregnant or something. So imagine my surprise when we walk in and Leila is standing there at the counter."_

 _"Leila was at Dr. Greene's office?"_

 _"Yeah, but that's not the worst part. Ana managed to get me to shut my mouth and we hid around the corner. She was asking about another prescription for her boyfriend," he pauses as if to give me a second to process his words. "Leila's cheating on you, Christian."_

 _"You're positive?"_

 _"Well, she said boyfriend and not husband. So we can only assume. But if you're really telling me the truth and you haven't slept with Leila . . ."_

 _"I haven't. I swear."_

 _He looks thoughtful for a moment as he plops down in a chair across from me._

 _"Dr. Greene hinted that it was an oral infection. Did you maybe, I don't know, pacify her? Let her think you were interested?"_

 _"No, I haven't touched her. The last time was . . ." I pause as the realization hits me. "Fuck. I don't even know when. She's not on birth control so I've made a point to stay away from her."_

 _"She's never made a move? Not even to throw you off from the fact that she's cheating?"_

 _"No, but—unfuckingbelieveable," I mutter. "The night of her birthday we all went out to celebrate. Ana came back with us and—long story short—Leila was drunk and passed out. Ana and I had sex ten feet away from her in the same damn room."_

 _"No shit!" he grins._

 _"Ana is . . . my little nymph is incredible . . . but that's not the point. The point is I woke up after having this amazing dream about Ana giving me head and Leila was right there. What if that's when she did it?"_

 _"That makes the most sense," he frowns. "Did she look guilty?"_

 _"Leila always looks guilty. Admittedly it's what first drew me to her. But then . . ." I trail off and look up to find Elliot studying me._

 _"Then you met Ana."_

 _"Then I met Ana. She changed everything and I've fucked up a lot. I should never have married Leila. It was the worst mistake of my life. Thankfully we have an ironclad prenup. Remind me to thank dad."_

 _"You do realize that even if you divorce her, you're going to have to work overtime to win Ana banana back, right?"_

 _"You don't think she'll take me back?" I ask, finding that my voice sounds like I've swallowed sharp shards of glass._

 _"I think she's realized that she can't be your side piece. Ana's worth so much more than that. You literally tried to pay her like some low-grade hooker for three years of hard work."_

 _I glance at the brown box reaping toxins in my office._

 _"That's the things I've given her."_

 _"It is. Although, there's a wrapped present inside."_

 _I motion for it and Elliot quickly retrieves it, handing it right to me._

 _I rip open the silver paper and gasp in surprise at what I find—a model kit for a Blanik L3 Glider with a note attached._

 _Christian,_

 _This gift reminds me of happier times._

 _I'm so sorry we couldn't give each other what we both wanted._

 _xx,_

 _A_

 _"I fucked it up, El. There's no way I'm going to win her back."_

 _"Well, little brother, you just never know what might happen._

The sound of the elevator wakes me from my reverie—and the telltale sound of Leila's stilettos echo across the floor.

I blink, refocusing on the glider.

"What are you doing?"

"Working."

"On a toy?"

"Its a model Blanik L3 Glider."

She makes a sound of disgust in the back of her throat as she walks further into the room.

"Ick, why?"

"It was a gift. Now, if you're done, I'd like some peace and quiet."

"Fine. I just wanted you to know that I'm going out with a few friends. I won't be back tonight."

"Fine."

"You're not even going to ask where too or who with?"

"Would you even bother to tell me the truth, anyway?" At her silence, I simply roll my eyes. "Take security with you. I'll see you whenever you get back."

It's silent for several moments until I hear her pick up the bottle sitting on my desk.

"Have you been drinking straight from the bottle?"

"What's it to you?" I snarl.

Looking up I notice her looking at the trash can beside the desk.

"Did you drink that one too?"

I simply shake my head at her in disgust before going back to work and she sighs in response.

"Should I call Elena?"

I drop what I'm doing to glare up at her.

"Excuse me?"

"It's just that you haven't behaved this way in a long time. Perhaps we need to visit the playroom. Elena could get you in the right mindset. You could let out your frustrations on my body. It would be like the good old days."

"If the good old days were so good, we would still be visiting them."

She stands up straight and slams the bottle down in front of me.

"You bastard!"

"Just go, Leila."

"Go? You just want me to go? You don't care what I'm about to go out and do?"

"No. Frankly, I wouldn't care if you packed your bags and never came back."

"We're married! I'm your _wife_!"

"Yes. Is that so horrible? You have access to an abundance of hard earned money and you can come and go as you please. Nothing is tying you down. You have no other commitments. Face it, Leila, we're in a marriage of convenience—except in this case, the only person who is convenienced here, is _you_."

"You're impossible."

"Fantastic. Tell me something I don't know."

"You're a selfish bastard, Grey. It's no wonder you jumped at that chance to marry me. No one else would be able to handle it," she sneers. "Expect maybe, Ana. She's just as fucked up as you are."

I stand, slamming my fists on the wooden surface before me as I roar. "GET. OUT!"

Leila shakes in her stilettos as she turns around and makes a run for it.

I look down at my desk before swiping all but two things off of it. Snatching the bottle of scotch I chug part of it down before looking around my office.

Spotting a wedding photo of me and Leila hanging upon the wall, I nearly vomit. Balling my hand into a fist, I punch the glass and watch as the glass shatters beneath my knuckles in a satisfying crunch.

In a haze, I then and stride out of my office, intent on finding and destroying every photo that included Leila.

I throw the frames into the wall, stomp the glass into the floor, and punch the larger frames over and over watching as my knuckles bleed.

As I drain the last drop of scotch out of the bottle, I stare at a lonesome painting hanging upon the wall next to the sliding door. It wasn't my taste and it had bothered me to look at it from the moment it was hung. It was loud, too bright—yet I had allowed the piece of trash to enter my home.

I take the bottle and shatter it against the wall before I take the jagged edges and begin to destroy the one painting I had allowed Leila to hang in the apartment. Swing after repetitive swing, until finally it comes crashing to the ground.

"Mr. Grey?"

I drop the bottle to the ground and turn to find Taylor standing at the edge of the room.

"Dr. Flynn is on his way, sir."

I shake my head in disgust.

"I only broke a few things. Dr. Flynn isn't wanted or needed. You're dismissed for the night."

"Sir, Mrs. Grey left over an hour ago."

I look up at the clock hanging on the wall and then down at my knuckles—bruised and bleeding with dried blood scattered across my skin.

I frown but shrug, choosing to ignore Taylor as I make my way out onto the balcony of _Escala_.

It was vast—the space below. Crowded, but vast. And bright—glowing beautifully against the dark night.

 _Anastasia would love it._

I shake the unwilling thought from my head.

She was gone. She had left me with ease. Not even bothering to look back to see if I would take her back.

Because I would have. I would have had to take her back into my arms. Anastasia Rose Steele was meant to be mine. She had been mine from the moment I had set eyes on her.

She would have been fifteen the first time, sitting in the new Esclavain a chair, waiting for her nails to dry—but I wouldn't talk to her until she was just nineteen.

She was beauty and in truth so pure—innocent. I knew from those blue doe eyes that I could never be good enough for her—so I walked out. And three years later, Elena introduced me to Leila.

The worst mistake of my life followed by an absolute angel in disguise. I wasn't good enough for my little nymph. I had never been and I never would be.

I stare down at the street below, watching the traffic as it inches by. So close, yet so far.

If I wasn't good enough for my Little One—or even for the likes of Leila and Elena—what was I good for? I was a fuck up. I always had been. Getting in the way. Nightmares. Not being able to hug the woman who saved me. Acting out. Getting into fights. Fucking my mothers best friend. Beating submissives until all I could see was red.

The world would have been a better place if I had been left to rot away with the crack whores decaying corpse.

"CHRISTIAN!"

I stand back, startled at the sound of Dr. Flynn's voice.

"Did you not hear me?"

"Sorry?"

"I said your name three times."

At my blank stare he sighs and takes a step closer.

"Why don't we go inside and get you cleaned up?"

"I think I'll stay here," I mutter as I attempt to look up at the sky.

"Well then, I'll sit out here with you until you're ready to come inside."

I frown at him.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Oh? Then what exactly are you planning to do? Pitch a tent perhaps?"

"No."

At my sullen tone, Dr. Flynn's expression grows weary.

"Christian, I must insist that you come inside so I may evaluate you while we get your hands cleaned up."

"Evaluate me?" I snort.

"Yes. I'll explain further if you step away from the railing and come inside with me."

I look down and find that I'm still nearly leaning over the edge—like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over my head, I take a step back and carefully walk over towards Dr. Flynn.

"Are you ready to come inside?"

I nod silently and he gestures for me to walk in front of him. Taylor stands just inside the door and Gail stands further in, just beyond the broken glass.

I stop in the middle of the room and survey the damage done.

Broken glass, pictures, tables, vases, and a lonesome bottle littered the floors.

When I say nothing, Taylor and John guide me over towards Gail.

"Let me take a look at your hands," she says calmly, cupping them in her own and wincing as she calculates the damage. "Let's get these cleaned up. Then we can decide if you need stitches or not."

I nod numbly, letting her guide me into the kitchen to sit at the bar with Taylor and John as my shadows.

I watch in silence as Gail collects bowls, towels, and a first aid kit from the pantry before proceeding to disinfect her ken hands. When she guides me over to the sink she sets one bowl down before turning on the water.

"Now I just want to run your hands beneath this water gently. We need to see if any glass shards are stuck—but we need the dried blood off first. Do you feel any glass in your skin?"

I flex my knuckles and shrug.

"I think I drank too much to feel much of anything."

The look I receive is one of sympathy before she guides my hands beneath the water.

At first, it stings, and I don't think any of us are surprised when a few tiny pieces of glass hit the metal bowl. But then, it soon feels soothing.

"Alright, keep this wrapped around your hands and go sit down," she instructs me as she wraps a soft towel around my hands.

I do as she says, aware that both John and Taylor are watching me curiously.

All too soon Gail begins dressing my hands and John clears his throat.

"Christian, how are you feeling right now?"

I shrug noncommittally, "Fine."

"You can talk when I finish with this. Let the man relax," Gail says sternly.

"Gail, sweetheart—"

"None of that, Jason Taylor!" she scolds. "Christian is upset. He has every right to be. I know John was called out of the goodness of your heart—but the evaluation can wait a few minutes. He's inside. He's safe. That's all that matters right this minute."

We're all silent for several minutes as Gail gently cleans each and every cut—until finally I ask the question I've been dreading.

"Has she ever brought someone home while I've been away?"

"GAIL!" Taylor scolds.

Gail tsks at us both before she shakes her head.

"Kind of hypocritical, don't you think?"

"She gave me an STD, Gail," I say lowly, earning a gasp from both her and John—of course Taylor knows. "I know that I've been having an affair throughout our entire marriage but I've only been with Ana. I was extremely careful and condoms were always used. With Leila, there's no telling how long this has been going on—or if it's one man or hundreds."

"I never witnessed Mrs. Grey bringing anyone else home. If I had, I would have informed Jason right away. But I will say this: she wasn't home much whenever you were gone."

I turn to Jason and he understands wordlessly.

"I'll coordinate with Welch and look into times and dates."

"I never should have allowed her to control her own security."

"Even if it was someone who listened to my word, chances are they would have become loyal to her anyway."

I stay silent, contemplating his words as Gail finishes wrapping my hands.

"When you go to bed, I have cool tea compresses in the fridge. I want you to take them and wrap them against your hands. They'll bring down the swelling and sooth them. Thankfully, you don't need stitching up. You should be grateful."

"I am," I nod solemnly. "Thank you, Gail," I add softly.

"You're very welcome."

"You don't have to clean this up. I'll call a cleaning crew to deal with it and to replace what was damaged."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," she says kindly.

I glance at John and sigh.

"Let's survey my office. Then we can sit and talk in the library."

John follows me along to my office and when we step in I'm appalled to see just what I've done to it. Everything is on the floor except on critical item.

"I wonder, what was it that made you keep this plane on your desk out of everything else?"

"It's a glider. A Blanik L3 glider model."

"I see. What is it's significance, then?"

"It was a gift."

"I see," he says, rubbing his chin. "What had you been doing when you knocked everything to the ground—but the glider?"

"I was putting it together. Or at least I was until Leila walked in and we started fighting"

"About what exactly?"

"Her comings and goings. Our marriage in general. I admitted that it was a marriage of convenience solely for her benefit. She then proceeded to tell me that I settled for her because I'm a complete fuck up and that I was lucky to have her because no one—not even Ana—would want me."

"I see. What was your reaction to that?"

"I told her to get out. She was going out with friends anyway."

"You couldn't have called Ana?"

"No."

John frowns at me. "Why is that? Don't you normally call her when you and Leila have had a falling out?"

"Normally, yes. But I fucked it all up, John. Besides that, she doesn't care."

"How exactly did that happen? Why would you say she doesn't care?"

"i accused her of giving me the STD. Then I made matters even worse by throwing money in her face and basically calling her a paid whore."

"I see," he frowns and glances at me desk.

"This was a gift?" he asks, motioning towards the model glider.

"Yes."

"Any significance other than your love of flying?"

"I took Ana gliding once. It was one of our only real dates."

"It was from Ana, then?"

"Yes," I say hesitantly.

"She gave you a very thoughtful gift for someone who doesn't care."

I scowl at him as he surveys the damage done.

"I suppose she did."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that instead of letting Leila's words get to you so easily."

"Yes, I should have."

"Do you think her words influenced your actions here tonight?"

I look around the room again before I look down at my hands in front of me.

"Yes. The self-doubt, the loneliness . . . It led me back to a time before submissives—before Elena."

"Suicidal Ideation, again."

"Yes, I believe so," I murmur.

"It seems as if now that both Taylor and Gail catered to your needs, that you're content in where you are."

"Yes and no," I say thoughtfully. "While I don't feel hopeless in the sense of: where do I go? Or, how can I go on? I feel as if I've lost a major part of my life. A part that I may have lost for good judging by my words."

"Christian—"

"I'm not going to kill myself. I realize that I'm depressed, but I'm not suicidal in that sense."

"If you agree to an intense therapy schedule this week, I can agree to let you be for tonight."

I sigh and nod in agreement.

"Yes, I can agree with that. Although, I think tomorrow I'm going to rest."

"Go about your schedule as best as you can. Even if it's just having your usual breakfast and an intense workout."

"I'll go about my day as planned, then. It will be easier that way, " I pause and look at Dr. Flynn speculatively. "Do you think I should contact her tonight or tomorrow?"

"Who?" he asks raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Ana?"

"Yes."

"Give her time. I can only imagine how she's feeling right about now."

"What do you mean?"

"Christian, you've just made the girl out to be everything she ever feared becoming in your relationship."

"How would you know? You've never even met her."

"I didn't have to meet her to know. It's simple. She's essentially been your mistress for three years. Most people make a mistress out to be a money-grabbing-whore. Things—that from what you've told me—Ana is most definitely not."

"What if I've lost her for good?"

"Then you have time to make it right. If you really care for her as you claim too, then you can't keep acting as if she's your dirty little secret." At my lock of defeat, he claps me on the shoulder. "We'll discuss this more Tuesday morning at nine. Get some rest."

He walks out, leaving me in the room of disarray where I walk over to my desk.

I move the now finished glider to the very middle of the desk before retrieving my broken phone from the rubble amongst the floor.

"Sir?"

I turn to Taylor, acknowledging him before I speak.

"Tuesday morning I have an appointment with Flynn. Coordinate with Andrea. Get someone to clean this all up before tomorrow night—not Gail—and get me information and what Ana is doing in Texas. I'll be going about my day as usual, tomorrow. I also need a new phone first thing in the morning. Goodnight, Taylor."

"Goodnight, Mr. Grey."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"Christian, darling."

Elena Lincoln stands before me practically purring as she grasps my elbows with her scarlet talons, as she kisses each of my cheeks with her equally red lips.

If I was fifteen, I would have been excited and completely terrified all rolled into one. At the age of twenty-seven, I'm resigned in the fact that this is what she expects—even if she isn't my Mistress.

"Elena."

"I already ordered the wine," she says distastefully. "I'm not sure why you've insisted on this place. It's not your usual."

 _"It's not The Mile High Club,"_ is what she means to say.

"It's one of Anastasia's favorites," I say simply.

"Anastasia's?"

Her lip curls in disgust and she mutters her name.

"What does Leila's little sister have to do with your dining choices?"

"It's simply a place we order from when she's at the office for lunch. She enjoys it, hence so do I," I explain calmly as I examine the menu.

"I see. Anastasia comes for lunch often then?"

I tense, realizing my mistake too late until Flynn's words from last night come back to me.

 _"You can't keep acting as if she's your dirty little secret."_

"Yes. Quite often, in fact."

"When did this start?" she asks, acting as if she has the right to be offended.

"Three years ago."

"W-What?" she sputters as the waiter enters with a bottle of wine.

Pouring it into my glass, he allows me to taste it before proceeding to fill both glasses at my approval.

As he makes his exit I look up at her.

"Anastasia and I are very close, Elena."

"When you say 'very close' you don't possibly mean . . ." At my expression of boredom she gasps. "Why when you have Leila? She's your perfect Submissive."

"Was. She was my Submissive and far from perfect. Anastasia is my more."

"More? More what?!" she exclaims, showing the most expression I've ever seen on her botoxed face in ten years.

"More. More of everything. The dinners, the conversation, the intimacy, the sex—"

"Sex? You've had sex with her?" she hisses.

"Yes."

"Dear God, boy! You've ruined everything! Leila—"

"Leila hasn't been a Submissive since list at the two and a half month mark after our wedding. We haven't even been intimate since our first wedding anniversary," I pause, thinking about the day Elena convinced me that Leila was ideal wife material because she was acting as the perfect submissive. "And now that I'm thinking about it, maybe none of that would have been so fucked up if you hadn't convinced me that Leila would make the perfect companion."

She scoffs as she takes a sip of her wine. "Please tell me, how is that my fault?"

"If I had waited, I would have found Ana again. She is my more."

Elena stares at me curiously as the waiter arrives to take our order.

"I'll have the Vine Ripened Heirloom Tomato Salad. Nothing else."

I roll my eyes as she orders before ordering my own meal.

"We'll start with the Dungeness Crab Cocktail and I'll have the Cappy's Spicy Cioppino. Thank you."

"What do you mean by again?" she asks as he makes a hasty retreat.

"I saw Anastasia long before I met her."

"When?" she asks curiously.

"At your salon."

"You saw Ana the day I introduced you to Leila?"

"No. It was years before. _Esclava_ had just opened and I was dropping off paperwork. The receptionist at the time said you were in the office and I chose to leave the paperwork at the desk rather than go in. That's when I saw her."

"Saw her?"

"She was getting her nails done. She was—"

"Young," Elena says curiously. "Very young. In fact, I would say that she was just fifteen. I met Leila not long before that day. She was there searching for a Dom and brought Ana along under the pretense that they were 'bonding' like sisters."

Elena tilts her head to the side and her hair hardly moves—making me wonder for the first time if she's wearing a horrible wig.

"I wonder," she murmurs. "Did you approach her?"

"No," I say sternly. "She was gorgeous. I knew that from the very moment I laid eyes on her, but she was too young. Granted, I thought she was probably a year or two older than I suspected—but she wasn't. I didn't speak to her that day. She doesn't even know about it because I chose to leave. The next time I saw her was the minute after I had agreed to a three-month contract with Leila. I didn't speak to her for six more months."

"Why didn't you approach her after you met Leila and signed the contract? You could have easily broken it, darling."

"I saw her leave with Leila so I had my security advisor look into it. When I learned that she was just entering college I knew I had to stay away from her. She had no dating history and she was my current Submissives sister."

"So if not then, when did it start?"

"The night of my Bachelor party."

At Elena's look of utter shock, I laugh.

"Actually, that's when the sex started. The emotional affair started way sooner. At least on my end. I bought a few things from her at Clayton's one day."

"Clayton's?"

"A hardware store she worked at. I teased her. It was . . . gratifying. Rope, zip ties, that sort of thing," I shrug.

"So she knew?"

"She figured it out later. She seduced me a few weeks later after I brought her home from my Bachelor party. Then again, the night before my wedding. It's been going on ever since."

I choose not to tell her of our coat closet rendezvous the night of my wedding. That was ours.

"So you're happy?"

"Yes," I falter. "Or I was."

"What do you mean, darling?"

I hesitate as her hand covers mine, and I find myself pulling it away.

"We had a fight and she ran after I accused her of some not so very nice things. I—I'm lost without her. All I want is to have her back here where she belongs."

"I see, " she pauses. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you like this."

"Like what?" I ask irritably.

"Distracted maybe—dare I say—brokenhearted."

"Are my feelings that obvious?"

She nods, her eyes softening as her face remains expressionless. "Obvious to your Mistress, yes. Don't forget, I know you well Christian. I molded you into the man that you are."

"You're not my Mistress, Elena. You haven't been for a long time."

"Hmm, no I suppose I haven't. However, I still believe this girl has turned your world upside down. Go see her after dinner and bend her to your will."

"She's in Texas."

"Texas?"

"At first it was to have a few days to think, but now . . . I'm not sure how long she'll stay after I told her to never come back."

"Well, if she's as stubborn as Leila makes her out to be—as she seems to be . . ."

"She's disarming. It's not every day that someone talks to me the way she talks to me."

"Yes, I can see that. It must be novel," she smiles. "Knowing you as I do, I'm sure that you're wondering what she's doing and how's she's coping."

"I'm hoping to give her some room to breathe. Then when she's back I can sit down and talk go her."

"Oh! Nonsense! You should go to see her."

"What?" I ask incredulously.

"Get your jet ready and go see the girl. If she's so willing to be your Submissive then make her bend to your will. As a Dom your very persuasive, darling."

My snort of disbelief is evident as she shakes her head.

"I taught you to reign in control. Make her cater to your every need. Bring the girl home and put her in her place, right where she belongs. I imagine she would look quite appetizing kneeling before you like the pet she is." I stay silent at her shocking words and let her continue on her tyrant. "You'll be able to keep up appearances that way."

"How do you presume I do that?" I grit out, barely hiding the anger in my voice.

Oblivious, she carries on. "Oh, you know darling. Schmooze the inner circle and socialites with your darling wife on your arm and keep your pet chained up at home to play with during the evening hours," she smirks in silence as our dinner is set down before she continues. "You know, I bet that if you played your cards right Leila would be more than willing to play along. She's all but admitted it."

 _Leila was talking with Elena behind my back—about our sex life._

"That is her sister!" I spit in disgust.

"Half-sister. Schematics," she shrugs nonchalantly. "Besides, Leila has the upbringing our world caters too. It's one of the reasons I knew she was perfect for you. Ana was brought up in trailer parks."

"Ana has never lived in a trailer park. And so what if she had! Look at where I came from before my mother rescued me."

"Again, schematics. It's all in the details darling. Plus, Grace was barren. She had to do something to become a parent."

My phone buzzes in my pocket for the thousandth time during our meal and I retrieve it.

"Grey."

"It's Ros. I wanted to talk about the—"

"Is it urgent?"

"Well not precisely but—"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"So you're stuck having dinner with some loser—or worse, Leila—and you'll call me back in the car?"

"Yes. See you then."

I hang up the phone and give Elena my best frown.

"Sorry about that. I have to go. It's urgent. Failed drop to Darfur," I say in a clipped tone.

"You can't even finish your meal?" she asks as I flag down the waiter.

"Afraid not."

"Sir?"

"I need this to-go and I'd like to settle the bill."

"Of course, Mr. Grey."

Elena frowns in distaste as he takes my plate and credit care before he heads off towards the kitchen.

"You're seriously leaving?"

"I don't have a choice. I have an empire to run."

"Well you're going to at least think about visiting the girl, aren't you? If it goes well, then you'll know. And if it doesn't, we can find someone more suitable for your and Leila's needs."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," she murmurs as her eyes flash with certainty.

As I see the waiter heading back I look at her.

"Please order whatever else you'd like," I say as I sign the bill and gather my food and card.

"Of course," she laughs and gives me what I think is supposed to be a flirty grin as I make my getaway.

P.R.E.T T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"Christian, to what do I owe the pleasure? You're not canceling for tomorrow morning, are you?"

"No, John. I'm not. I just had an unsettling conversation over dinner and I'm trying to wrap my head around it."

"I see. May I ask who this dinner was with?"

"Elena."

"Ah."

I sigh, rolling my head back to rear as I swivel around in my chair inside my now-clean office.

"Am I to assume that it was disturbing in some way?"

"I was unsettled by what was suggested."

"Which was?"

"Well, to start off, I took what you told me into consideration so I told Elena about Ana."

"I'm sorry, you what?"

"Well, you said I shouldn't keep her a secret and—"

"I meant to tell someone like Elliot or your father. Even your grandfather! Not her."

"Why not her? Elena is my friend."

"We've discussed this Christian."

"Yes, you may be right."

"I'm sorry?"

"You may be right," I mutter. "Elena suggested that I keep Leila as my arm-piece and then said that Ana would make a good pet. For both of us."

"Both of you? As in you and Elena or you and Leila?" he asks sounding seemingly appalled.

"As in me and Leila."

"They're sisters."

"I reminded her of that and she didn't seem put off by it. She was trying to make Ana out to be something she's not. She even suggested that if Ana said no to me that she could find someone for Leila and I to play with."

"I see, and what do you think of all of that?"

"It's insane. Especially since she suggested I go to Texas to win Ana back. Which I'll definitely do as soon as I hear back from her security—"

"Whoa! Hold on, Christian. We discussed giving Ana space. If you chase after her you're only going to upset her."

A sharp knock on my office door causes me to look up.

"Mr. Grey, I've received the report about Miss Steele."

"John, I've got to go."

"Now, wait a minute. Think this through for a moment, Christian."

"It's just the report on what she's been up to in Texas."

"Can you wait on it? Read it and wait to make a decision until our appointment tomorrow morning?"

I sigh, contemplating his words as I look up at the clock. If I waited, I was really only losing twelve hours.

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

I end the call and look at Taylor expectantly.

"Welch is on the line."

I frown and pick up.

"Welch, what have you got for me?"

"Evening, sir. Miss Steele's grandmother—Mrs. Lambert—she's ill, Sir. According to security, Miss Steele arrived at the nursing home early this morning and only left when the doors closed. Taylor had me dig once we learned she was visiting a Hospice center."

"Hospice? Why wasn't Leila notified?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. It seems that Mrs. Lambert only contacted Miss Steele."

"Ana knew she was sick?"

"According to emails, it looks like she was told her grandmother was in a nursing home. She looked taken by surprise when she discovered she was in Hospice."

"I want everything taken care of. If Ana can't afford it—"

"Mr. Grey, there's something else."

"What?" I growl.

"Has Mrs. Grey ever mentioned an inheritance to you?"

"She has one from her father but why—"

"Not from her father, Mr. Grey. I'm talking about from her grandmother. Or who she perceived to be her grandmother."

"No. According to Leila the woman was welcoming but made it clear that Ana was her family. Why?"

"Leila is set to receive a small lump sum from Mrs. Lambert's estate upon her death."

"And what? Ana gets nothing?"

"Not exactly, Sir. She's to receive Mrs. Lambert's entire fortune—her entire estate, really."

I sigh in relief.

"She'll be pleased. She mentioned the cottage before."

"Sir, there's not a cottage. There's a 152-acre estate, a stake in a real estate company that's very lucrative, and oil."

"Oil?"

"Oil. The Lambert family is in the oil business. They're mostly millionaires—but not Mrs. Lambert."

"What are you getting at?"

"Ana is set to inherit close to 3.2 billion dollars."

"W—What?" I ask breathlessly, looking at Taylor for confirmation.

"You heard me right. And I just got the word. She passed this afternoon. Ana was with her and is making arrangements in the morning. Should I get the jet ready?"

At the sight of Taylors furrowed brow, I shake my head.

"No. If she wants us there, she'll call. The Lambert's cut off contact with Leila when she and Greg left. In fact, I would bet my left leg she's put all of her funeral arrangements in her will."

"You're right. It just came in. Not one single person but Ana. Should I at least send flowers?"

"No. Make arrangements for permanent care to the gravesite. Ana won't think about it and she shouldn't have to. If she asks, make them tell her it's included. I'll tell her myself when it's time."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good work, Welch."

"Anything else?"

"Actually, there is one more thing. I want everything you can get on Elena Lincoln. I want it all."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

I grin to myself as I comfortably lean back in my chair, admiring the glider now resting on the corner of it. If Leila was going to lie, cheat, steal, and coherence her way to the top with Elena Lincoln, she wasn't going to get away with it.

"And one more thing. I want you and Taylor working on this as a top priority. I plan on divorcing Leila and I want to know exactly what she's up too. Who she's fucking, what she's doing, when she's really working, why she's lying. Do not work with her security. I want them all tailed and I want the answers yesterday. Are we clear?" I ask, looking at Taylor as he nods his head in agreement.

"Crystal, Sir."

 _Let the games begin._

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies!**

 **Hope you enjoyed Christian's POV.**

 **Remember to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more.**

 **Recommended FanFiction: Sins of the Father by lanieloveu**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	12. Chapter 10

**Reviews from Chapter 9:**

 **daytonalay:** thank you so much! We all must remember that Christian has not only been physically abused but mentally as well. Christian is definitely not entertaining the Bitch Trolls suggestions. In fact, this will only help him begin to realize just what she is. As for Jack Hyde, I've got something special cooked up for him ;)

 **peachesgo:** I assure you all, Leila and Ana are 100% biologically related.

 **Krooela:** Please remember, Christian was abused up until the age of four and then again from the age of 15 and while physically it ended when he was 21, he's still being abused mentally. Let me be clear: Christian has not abused Ana in any way, shape, or form. He first saw her when she was 15. Knowing that she was too young, he left without saying a word to her and didn't see her again until she was 18 years old. Still, he didn't speak to her. He officially met Ana when she was 19 and their affair began months later. He never touched Ana without her consent. She came onto him.

 **MrsAnanstasiaGrey:** just a reminder for everyone since it hasn't all been explained since one of the first chapters . . . Leila was raised by a Lambert until her late teens. She grew up thinking of Grandma Lambert as her grandma. So it makes sense that Grandma Lambert might leave her something.

 **bertha55:** Sara Reed is the name on my profile. If you've been added to the Facebook group Sara Jo Updates then you can always send a friend request to me by clicking on my name via one of the posts. There's also now a link to the group on my fanfiction bio. :)

 **Songs:**

 _Like Everybody Else_ by Lennon Stella

and

 _The Heart Wants What It Wants_ by Selena Gomez

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Friday, June 3rd, 2011

I find myself waiting for a bag of luggage after my flight arrives home. It wasn't what I wanted—or what I had planned—but nevertheless it was happening. A small suitcase full of Grandma Lambert's most precious soft collectibles were working their way round. Another box would be arriving on my doorstop when I arrived home.

It had been a shock to my system—to arrive in Texas at the nursing home to have a short visit with the grandmother I didn't really know, only to lose her to the dark grip of death only hours later.

It wasn't what I expected and the outcome was cruel. Her last Will and Testament had stated the only person she wanted at her service was one lone Anastasia Rose Steele.

It was lonely and I desperately wanted to call him every single night as I cried myself to sleep—but I had held on strong.

Or by a thread if you considered the way I broke down when I learned that Grandma Lambert had left the majority of her fortune to me of all people.

Gracie—her only living child—had written her own mother out of her life. She wanted no part in being the heir to the Lambert fortune.

Then there was Leila—who wasn't really her granddaughter. Besides that little fact, her lawyer and dear friend claimed she thought I deserved claim to the legacy that was being left behind.

In hindsight, perhaps she was right. According to what grandma had told me on her deathbed, I was owed an entire trust fund. Plus the money that had been set aside for college. Money I had never received as I should have when I turned eighteen.

Instead, the money had been stolen by my flesh and blood. A lineage that Grandma Lambert insisted I check out once everything had been settled.

Meaning the money, the farmland, the empty land, the estate she lived in her entire life, properties in California, New York, and Lake Tahoe. An island in the Caribbean and a villa in Rome. Then there was the stakes in oil and hundreds of other small companies. Somehow it was all mine . . . including a house on the Sound.

Leila would be furious and when Carla found out all hell would break loose.

In truth, I needed help. I could ask Kate to talk to her father. Or I could ask Elliot—he owned his own business. Carrick was a good bet being a lawyer—but did I want to involve someone who was technically Leila's father-in-law.

I could ask Christian . . . he would know all about the properties and the businesses. He could help me manage the abundance of money I was suddenly the holder of. He would know what to do about the Lamberts involvement in the oil company . . .

 _No_. I wouldn't—I couldn't give in and contact him.

I would hold off. It was _his_ turn to apologize and grovel at _my_ feet.

After all, it seemed only fair after everything he had put me through.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

When I arrive home, I find that my own apartment is not only empty but achingly unfamiliar. I haven't lived or even spent enough time here for it to feel like home.

As I move through the living room, the words of my Dom ring through my head.

 _"You put yourself in danger by leaving the damn door unlocked Anastasia! Any creep could have snuck in here and . . . they could have hurt you. I mean really hurt you."_

I turn around and swiftly lock the deadbolt before heading straight for my room.

Flicking on the light, I survey my surroundings. My quilt lays folded where I left it at the end of my bed and hanging limply beside it is the very deflated, Charlie Tango balloon. The crumpled foil looks just exactly how I feel deep inside. I drop my bags at the door and angrily snap the balloon from its ribbon tie, and crush it to my chest before falling into a heap on top of my bed.

 _Christian, what have you done to me? To us?_

I break into gut wrenching sobs, and the pain brought on is indescribable. It's everywhere all at once, seeping into the marrow of my bones and into the cracks of my heart. Physical, mental . . . it's metaphysical and pure _grief. A grief I've unwittingly brought onto myself._

Deep down in the depths of my soul, an unpleasant, unsought idea comes to mind. The bite of his belt—hell, the bite of a cane—has nothing on this utter devastation I am experiencing firsthand.

As my body heaves, I curl up on my side, clutching desperately at the now flat foil balloon that was once Charlie Tango.

On my nightstand, I spot the scrap of fabric that represents the worst day of my life—well, the second worst day. The first was the day Christian married my sister. I grab for Elliot's handkerchief and wipe at my eyes with it before clutching it in my fist against my chest before surrendering myself to my act of mourning.

Day Four Post-Christian is a bust.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Monday, June 6th, 2011

I survive Day Seven Post-Christian by a thread.

Monday morning, I walk into my first day at SIP and am greeted warmly, then immediately rushed into HR to sign papers before I officially start my day.

The whole day in a whole, is a welcomed distraction. Between a haze of new faces and work to get done, time has flown by as if it's nothing.

Then, there's Mr. Jack Hyde. The very same Mr. Jack Hyde who not only interviewed me, but feels as if he can sit on my desk.

As he smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkle with something I can't decipher.

"Excellent work today, Ana. I think we're going to make a great team."

I somehow manage to curl my lips upward in a shadow of a smile as he continues to stare down at me—getting an eyeful of my breasts in the process.

"Thank you. I'll be off, if that's okay with you," I murmur.

"Of course, it is five thirty after all. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Jack."

"Good night, Ana."

Shrugging on my jacket as I go, I collect my bag and head for the door. Out in the early evening of Seattle, I take a deep breath. The fresh air doesn't come close to filling the void in my chest, a void that's been present since last Monday. Each and every day has been a painful and hollow reminder of what I've lost. From the empty side of the bed to the days without email—I've fallen into a black hole. The pain, the loneliness, it's neverending.

As I head towards the bus stop, I walk with my head down, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk and contemplating being alone and without Wanda . . . or the new Audi.

I shut the door on that thought immediately. _No. I mustn't think about him. Christian Grey is a Hard Limit._

Without Wanda, I can afford a new car. A nice, new car. He's either been cruel or over-generous in the direct deposit that landed in my account first-thing Tuesday morning. _Despite his cruel words, I'm leaning towards over generous._ The mere idea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I do my best to dismiss it as I board the awaiting bus.

Along the ride, I try to keep myself from thinking of him. I numbly concentrate on keeping my mind as blank as possible. I simply can't think of him. I don't want to start crying again—not out in public. It's too painful to endure.

When I arrive home, the apartment is as empty as it was when I left. I miss Kate terribly. Although, I'm sure she's having the time of her life as she lies on the beach in Barbados, cocktail in hand as she flirts with Elliot.

I slip my jacket and shoes off before turning on the tv so that there's noise to fill the void and to provide some comfort in my own company. I find that I can't concentrate on it. Instead, I air and blankly stare at the brick wall.

I feel numb from the inside out. The only thing I can feel is the heart aching pain deep within. _How long must I endure this? Why can't we talk like civilized adults and end this suffering once and for all? It's too much._

The doorbell startles me from my inner battle, and my heart skips a beat. _Christian? No, it couldn't be._ I hesitantly press the intercom.

"Delivery for Ms. Steele." A bored, disembodied voice answers and disappointment crashes through me.

"I've got a delivery here for a Miss Steele."

I quickly make my way downstairs and find a young man holding a large cardboard box as he leans against the front door. He noisily chews his gum as I sign for the package before wishing him a good day and retreating upstairs. I'm surprised to find that the oversized box is light. Inside lay two-dozen white long-stemmed roses and an enclosed card..

 _Congratulations on your first day at work._

 _I hope it went well._

 _And thank you for the glider. Not only was it thoughtful, but it was a small joy to put together after a particularly bad day._

 _It has a place of pride amongst my desk._

 _Christian_

I stare at the typed card as the hollow part in my chest expands. No doubt, his assistant had these sent. But then, the words . . . it's far too painful to think about.

I examine the roses next—they're breathtaking and I can't bring myself to throw them in the trash. They are far too beautiful. Dutifully, I make my way into the kitchen to hunt down a vase so I can display them with pride on the kitchen table.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Soon a pattern for my daily routine develops. I wake, shower, go to work, come home, and cry myself to sleep. Or at least, I try to sleep. It's pretty difficult to escape him, even in my dreams. Most nights his trademark copper locks are standing on end as he paces the length of his office over and over again. Sometimes, he crusades through Escala and throws the framed wedding picture through the window and out onto the streets below. Then every night like clockwork, burning gray eyes haunt my vision as he leans over the piano and stares straight into the depths of my soul.

When I wake after that last nightmare, I lay awake until my alarm sounds. Not the nice music I'm accustomed to, but a consistent beep because the sound of music . . . it's become far too much. I'm careful to avoid it at all costs. Even the gentle jingles in the latest commercials make me shudder with grief.

My capability to speak is saved for important duties at work because I can't stand to listen to idle chit chat. I haven't even called my mother or Ray. My relationships forged at work are impersonalable at best. I haven't bothered to call my mother but I haven't called Ray either. If I talk to Ray, I know that I will break—and I have nothing left to break.

Instead, I have learned to become content on my lone island. I've been ravaged of emotion, and a drought has settled in where nothing grows. That's all I am. It's all I have the capability to be.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

I haven't eaten and it's showing. When I finally find the strength to look in the mirror, I find that I am literally wasting away before my very eyes. By lunchtime on Wednesday—Day Nine Post-Christian—I manage to eat a cup of peach yogurt. My first meal since the previous Monday, and I can barely keep it down. Somehow I am surviving on a newfound love of lattes and Coke. I need the caffeine after the night terrors, but it's making me far too anxious.

I've noticed that I'm especially anxious whenever Jack is around. He tends to hover over my desk, irritating me to no end, and adding to it by asking me personal questions about my life. I manage to be polite while keeping him at arm's length. There's something about him that doesn't sit quite right with me, and I can't place my finger on just what it is. It's irritating, but I'm trusting my gut just like Christian would tell me to do.

I'm over halfway through with my third day at work when I begin shuffling through a large pile of correspondence addressed to Jack. Some of it was led over by his last assistant, and he only just dropped it on my desk. It's menial work, but I'm happy for the distraction as the day winds down.

I'm replying to some of the correspondence by email when my inbox pings and I notice the word Grey in bold font in the bottom right corner of my screen.

 _Holy shit. An email from Christian. At work. What could I have possibly done to deserve this? Has be realized his mistake? Did Elliot tell him? Or am I going to have to?_

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8, 2011 14:05

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia,

Please forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it's going well. Did you get my flowers?

I note on my calendar that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend's show, and I'm sure you haven't had the time to purchase a car. It's a long drive, one in which you shouldn't be making alone. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish.

Let me know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

My eyes well up with tears, but I manage to withhold them until I'm inside the safety of a bathroom stall after a hasty retreat to the restroom.

 _José's first gallery opening. How could I have forgotten all about it?_

In the chaos of my life after graduation, I've completely spaced it out. I promised him I would go, and being that Kate can't make it, I have to go. Which means that Christian is right. _Shit. How am I going to get there?_

I rub at my forehead in a fit of frustration. José hasn't called. _Why?_ Actually, now that I think about it, no one has called. Not even Carla to bitch at me about Leila's latest woe. _Why hasn't anyone called?_ Is it possible that I've been so absent-minded that I haven't noticed that my cell phone has been on silent for over a week?

I think back to my flight to Texas. I had taken a cab straight from the airport to the hotel before heading to the hospice center. I coordinated with the lawyer in person each day. Which meant . . .

 _Shit! I am such a dumbass!_

After Elliot brought me back to the apartment, I had packed a box full of Christian's things. The Mac, the Blackberry, and a present I had picked up for him on a trip to Pike Market, the glider. _The damn Blackberry was with Christian._ Year's later, I still have my very ancient cell phone set to forward my calls to the BlackBerry. _Holy hell. Christian's been getting my calls—if he even still has the Blackberry, that is._

Then I have to wonder, if he knows he has my phone, how did he get my email address meant for work?

Of course, the question is absurd. He's the Master of his Universe. He has access to almost anything he wants right at the tips of his fingers. The man knows my shoe and bra size. A measly email address is nothing. _Hell, this time he didn't even_ _need to get me naked_.

Now the dilemma is if I can face seeing him again. _Could I bear it? Do I even want to see him again?_ I close my eyes and tilt my head back as grief and longing rush through me. _Of course, I do. I love the man with every fiber of my being._

That was it. Plain and simple. It was something I had realized on the flight to Texas. After that I had resolved to make myself forget about it. Our love was a forbidden desire that could never be. Not so long as he was married.

 _Perhaps—perhaps I can convince him of the truth . . . No, no, no. I cannot be with someone who lies to me and takes pleasure in inflicting such pain on me, someone who can't love me. Because that was just it—I couldn't, in good faith, continue on an affair with a married man._

My mind is flooded with torturous memories of the small moments we spent together. We enjoyed gliding over spring break. He had taken me for a day trip—after waking me at the crack of dawn—to a small town. We had started out the day with a feast of pancakes before spending our time holding hands, stealing kisses, and in the end, soaking in the bathtub. Over the course of a day, he wooed me with his gentle ways, his humor, and his dark brooding stare once he was ready to take me to bed. It's impossible not to miss him after nine days. Nine days of agony that have felt like an entire lifetime. I have spent every night crying myself to sleep, wishing I hadn't just walked out when he said those awful things. I wake every morning wishing that he wasn't married to my sister and that I had fought for him before he left for the alter. I spend my days wishing that we were together, committing our lives to one another. My heart and my soul, are in purgatory.

I hug myself tightly, thinking that maybe if I wrap my arms around myself hard enough, that I'll bind the broken pieces and hold myself together when the inevitable dam breaks. I miss him and I love him beyond what is comprehensible. It is simply that sweet . . . easy . . . and simple.

Despite what my heart wants and craves, I know I must test my resolve and stay strong. Except that I want to go to José's show, I've promised him I would. Then there is the fact that deep down in the darkest parts of my soul, the masochist in me wants to see Christian. After all, it's how our tryst began.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the stall and take a look in the mirror. My makeup-free face is slightly blotchy, but a splash of lukewarm water makes it all but disappear before I head back to my desk.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:25

To: Christian Grey

Hi Christian

Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely and take pride upon my kitchen table.

If it's not too much trouble, I would appreciate a lift.

Thank you.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

Digging through my purse I find my old phone buried in a rarely used makeup bag. The hunk of junk was useful on days I forgot to charge my Blackberry simply because the battery always seemed to last forever. It was every persons dream. I discover just as I thought find—it is still set to forward calls to the BlackBerry. Finding that Jack is still in a meeting, I quickly call José.

"Hello?"

"Hi, José. It's Ana."

"Hello, stranger." His tone is so warm and welcoming after over a week with no friends, that it's almost enough to push me over the edge again.

"I'm at work so I can't talk long. What time should I be there tomorrow for your show?"

"You're still coming?" He asks, sounding excited and all too pleased.

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." I smile, but the corners of my mouth make it feel stiff—forced into puppetry after nine days.

"Seven thirty."

"Sounds good, I'll see you then, José. Bye."

"Bye, Ana."

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:27

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia,

What time shall I pick you up?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:32

To: Christian Grey

José's show starts at 7:30. So, what time would you suggest?

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:34

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45 on the dot.

I look forward to seeing you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Tomorrow

Date: June 8 2011 14:38

To: Christian Grey

See you then.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

 _Oh, hell._ For the first time in nine agonizing days, my sorts lift a fraction at the certainty that I'm going to see Christian. I have to wonder how he's been.

 _Has he missed me?_ Probably not like I've missed him. _Has he found love again with Leila?_ The thought is so painful that I dismiss it immediately. I look at the pile of correspondence I need to sort for Jack and begin to tackle it as I try to push Christian out of my mind once again—not allowing myself to think of him until I crawl into bed.

That night, I toss and turn, because for the first time in nine days I'm attempting to fall asleep without crying my way into a nightmare.

Instead, I visualize Christians face the very last time I saw him as I left. His painfully tortured expression as the elevator doors closed haunts me. Remembering that he's the one who ordered me to go is torture. I still don't understand it all. After three years, why would he believe that I would cheat on him? I couldn't be with anyone but him. We each have our own issues—my anger towards Leila and my own mother, his fear of . . . what exactly? _Commitment? Love?_

Filled with a sense of overwhelming sadness, I turn on my side, wrapping my arms and legs around my body pillow before returning back to my inner turmoil.

The man thinks that he doesn't deserve to be loved. _Why does he feel that way after all these years? Does it have to do with his upbringing? His birth mom, the crack whore? Or worse . . . Elena Lincoln?_ My thoughts plague my mind, body, and soul into the early hours until eventually, I fall into a fitful and exhausting sleep.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The day drags on, and today of all days, Jack is unusually attentive. Of course, it's all due to my favorite plum dress and the added black high-heeled boots I've stolen from Kate's closet this morning, but I try not to dwell on the thought. The dress is looser on me than it once was and I know I'll be hearing about it later this evening. Although, it's a much-needed reminder that I must go on a shopping trip when my first paycheck hits the bank.

 _Except, I don't have to wait. I don't even have to work, really. Except that I want too. I could have all the money in the world and I would still want to read manuscripts day in and day out. It's something that I enjoy. It's what I love. One day, I hope to have someone read my own . . ._

Finally, the clock changes to five thirty, and I quickly collect my jacket and purse, trying to put my nerves to rest. I'm just going to see _Christian. It's simply two friends going to see a mutual friends art—together._

"Do you have a date tonight?" Jack asks as he strolls past my desk on his way out.

"No, not really."

His interest piqued, he stops and raises an eyebrow at me. "Boyfriend?"

I flush under his intense stare and silently curse at my blushing genes. "No, just a friend. My brother-in-law actually."

"Well then, maybe tomorrow you'd like to come for a drink after work. You've had a stellar first week, Ana. We should celebrate it together." An unknown, unsettling emotion flits across his face as he smiles, causing me to once again, feel uneasy in his presence.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he saunters through the double doors without another word. _Drinks with the boss, is that a good idea?_ I frown at his retreating back and vow to at least get Christian's opinion on the matter.

I shake my head. I have an entire evening of Christian Grey to get through before I can even broach the subject. Perhaps an email would be better.

I head into the restroom to make last-minute adjustments to my end of the day look. In the large mirror on the wall, I take a long, hard look at my face. I'm my usual pale self, with dark circles to match around my too-large eyes.

 _"Your skin is like unblemished porcelain, baby. And those powder blues could bend me at will, Little One."_

I shake the memory of his words away. I look gaunt, haunted. I briefly wish that I knew how to use makeup a little better. _Maybe I should have listened to Leila all those years ago. Or Kate when she lectured me about finding a boyfriend._ I apply some mascara and eyeliner and pinch my cheeks, hoping for some color. Next, I arrange my hair so that it hangs artfully down my back, before I take a calming, deep breath.

I nervously make my way through the foyer, walking with a smile and a wave to Claire at Reception. If I snap out of the fog that's consumed me, I think she and I could become friends. Jack is talking to Elizabeth as I head for the doors, but the moment he spots me, he smiles broadly, and hurries over to open them for me.

"After you, Ana," he murmurs.

"Thank you." I smile, feeling flustered and confused.

Outside on the curb, Taylor stands waiting. The moment be spots me, he offers me a kind smile before he opens the rear door of the car. I hesitantly glance at Jack, who has followed me out. He's looking towards the Audi SUV in dismay.

I turn and silently climb into the back, and there he sits—Christian Grey—wearing his gray suit, sans tie, with his white shirt open at the collar. In the sunlight, his gray eyes are gleaming with mirth.

And Leila is sitting next to him.

My mouth dries as I open my mouth to speak. The man looks glorious after a day of work and it's just not fair. Except he's scowling at me. _Why must he always scowl at me?_

"When did you last eat?" he snaps as Taylor closes the door behind me.

 _Fuck. Couldn't he just not notice?_

"Hello, Christian. Yes, it's nice to see you, too." I roll my eyes.

"I don't want to hear your smart mouth now. Answer me." He growls as his eyes blaze with fire.

 _Holy shit_. "Um . . . I had a yogurt at lunchtime . . . Oh—and part of a banana." Again, the man has rendered me practically speechless.

"When did you last have a real meal?" he asks acidly.

Taylor slips into the driver's seat, starts the car, and pulls out into the traffic.

I glance up and Jack is waving at me, though how he can see me through the dark glass, I don't know. I don't bother to wave back, but still Christian notices.

"Who's that?" Christian snaps.

"My boss." I peek up at the Greek-sculpture-of-a-man beside me, and his mouth is pressed into a hard line.

"Well? Your last meal?"

"Christian, that's really none of your concern," I murmur, feeling foolishly brave.

"Whatever you do concerns me. Tell me."

 _No, it doesn't_. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes upward in defiance which only makes Christian narrow his in return. The action is so childish, that for the first time in a long time, I want to laugh. I try hard to stifle the giggle that threatens to bubble up and over. Christian's face softens as I struggle to keep a straight face, and a trace of a smile kisses his lovely sculptured lips.

"Well?" he asks, his voice softer.

"Lunch last Monday," I whisper. "I couldn't eat the takeout with Kate."

He closes his eyes as fury, and possibly regret sweeps across his face. "I see," he says, his voice expressionless. "You look like you've lost at least 8 pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia," he scolds.

I stare down at the knotted fingers in my lap. _How is it that he always make me feel like an errant child?_

"Okay, enough with the eating issues you both seem to have. Who's your boss and has he asked you out yet?" Leila asks.

"His name is Jack Hyde and he's the Editor. And no, at least . . . I don't think so."

"He's your boss, I hope—"

"You don't think so?" Leila says, cutting Christian off. "What exactly did he say? Is he nice? Do you like your job? I didn't even know you'd gotten the job until Christian told me."

"He told me I should go for drinks after work tomorrow to celebrate my first week. I don't remember his exact words though. I like my job so far, but there's just something about . . ."

I trail off and Christian's look becomes troubled.

"Anastasia, if he's said anything—"

"No, nothing out of line. It's probably nothing and just nerves on my part."

"You always have been oblivious to male attention," Leila says exasperatedly. "The man obviously likes you."

Rolling his eyes so Leila can't see, Christian shifts and turns toward me. "How are you?" he asks, his voice still soft.

 _Well, I'm shit, really . . ._ I swallow. "If I told you I was fine, I'd be lying."

He inhales sharply. "What happened?" he murmurs and reaches over and clasps my hand. "In Texas," he adds.

 _Oh, fuck. Skin against skin. How am I supposed to resist that?_

"Christian, I—"

"Ana, please."

 _I'm going to cry. No. I can't. I won't._

"Christian, I . . . please . . . I've cried so much," I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check in front of Leila.

"Oh, Ana, no." He tugs my hand, and before I know it, I'm tucked into his side. He has his arms around me, and his nose is buried in my hair. "I saw the notice online," he breathes.

I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. When I realize that he's pressing me to his chest, I melt in his hold.

 _Oh, this is exactly where I want to be. It's where I belong._

I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair repeatedly. _This is home_. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash, and my favorite smell— _Christian_. For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be well—that Christian will apologize, that he'll divorce Leila, and that we will live happily ever after—and the dream soothes my ravaged soul.

A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb, even though we're still in the city.

"Come"—Christian shifts away from me by an inch—"we're here."

 _What?_

"Helipad—on the top of this building." Christian glances toward the building by way of explanation.

Of course. _Charlie Tango_.

Taylor opens the door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel safe. I smile back.

"Thank you, Taylor."

"You're very welcome, Miss. Steele."

I blush as Christian comes around the car and takes my hand as he holds Leila's with his other. He looks quizzically at Taylor, who stares impassively back at him, not revealing one thing.

"Nine?" Christian says to him.

"Yes, sir."

Christian nods as he turns and leads us through the double doors into the foyer. I revel in the feel of his hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around mine. The familiar pull is there—I'm drawn, lone island to his ocean. I've drowned in the man that he is, and yet here I am ready to face the storm once again.

Reaching the elevators, he presses the "call" button. I peek up at him, and he's wearing his enigmatic half smile. As the doors open, he releases our hands and ushers us both in.

The doors close and I risk a second peek. He glances down at me, and it's there in the air between us, the familiar electricity. It's so palpable that I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together.

"What notice did you see online?" Leila asks, breaking the moment.

Christian keeps his gaze on mine as I take a deep breath, his eyes clouded and intense.

"Grandma Lambert passed. That's why I was in Texas."

Desire pools dark and deadly in the depths of my soul and he seems to sense the moment I cave into him. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and all my muscles clench tightly. _How can he still do this to me? And with Leila—my sister, his wife—beside us._

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispers.

I gaze up at Christian, releasing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not? _Except he's not mine to have._

"It's not as if you kept in touch with her," I murmur.

Abruptly the doors open, breaking the spell, and we're on the roof. It's windy, and despite my black jacket, I'm frozen. Christian puts his arms around us, pulling us both into him on either side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stands in the center of the helipad, with its rotor blades slowly spinning.

A tall, blond man with a broad jawline and dressed in a dark suit, leaps out before ducking low and running toward us. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors.

"Ready to go, sir. She's all yours!"

"All checks done?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll collect her around eight thirty?"

"Yes, sir."

"Taylor's waiting for you out front."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey. Safe flight to Portland. Ma'am and Ma'am." He salutes both Leila and me. Without releasing either of us, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads us to the helicopter door.

Once inside Leila insists on sitting in the back row of seats due to motion sickness. Christian buckles her in quickly and efficiently before moving on to me. He buckles me firmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight. He gives me a knowing look and his devious smile.

"This should keep you in your place," he murmurs into my ear as he begins to move into his seat. "I must say I like this harness on you. Don't touch anything."

I flush a deep crimson, and he runs his index finger down my cheek before handing me the headphones. Leila is simply too absorbed in her phone to notice. _I'd like to touch him, too, but he won't let me. And his wife is here._ I scowl to myself when I realize he's pulled the straps so tight I can barely move.

He sits in his seat and buckles himself in, then starts running through all his pre-flight checks. He's just so competent that it's somehow very alluring. He puts on his headphones and flips a switch and the rotors begin to move at a deafening speed.

Turning, he gazes at me. "Ready, girls?" His voice echoes through the headphones.

"Yes," we answer in unison.

He grins his boyish grin and it's simply breathtaking after not seeing it for so long.

"Sea-Tac tower, this is Charlie Tango Golf—Golf Echo Hotel cleared for takeoff to Portland via PDX. Please confirm, over."

The disembodied voice of the air traffic controller answers, issuing instructions.

"Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out." Christian flips two switches on the board, then firmly grasps the stick, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the evening sky.

Seattle and my stomach drop away from us, and there's so much to see.

"We've chased the dawn, now the dusk," his voice comes through on the headphones. I turn and gape at him in surprise.

 _What does this mean? How is it that he can say the most romantic things when his wife a mere two feet away and not become flustered?_ He smiles, and I can't help but to shyly smile back at him.

"As well as the evening sun, there's more to see this time," he says.

The last time we flew to Seattle it was dark, but this evening the view is spectacular, literally out of this world. We're up among the tallest buildings, going higher and higher.

"Escala's over there." He points toward the building. "Boeing there, and you can just see the Space Needle."

I crane my head. "I've never been."

"We'll take you—we can eat there," Christian says.

"Or the two of you can go. I've been there enough times to last a lifetime," Leila sighs. "Boring as fuck business dinners."

"It's my business. You could still take your sister out to eat and play nice can't you?" At her brooding and stubborn silence, he sighs. "I can still take you there and feed you." He glares at me.

I shake my head and decide not to antagonize him. "It's very beautiful up here, thank you."

"Impressive, isn't it?"

"Impressive that you can do this."

"Flattery from you, Miss Steele? But I'm a man of many talents."

"I'm fully aware of that, Mr. Grey."

He turns and smirks at me, and for the first time in nine—no, ten—days, I relax a little.

 _Perhaps this won't be so bad_.

"So, honestly now. How's the new job?"

"Good, thank you. I find it interesting."

"What's your boss really like?"

"Oh, he's okay." _How can I tell Christian that Jack makes me uncomfortable?_ Christian glances at me.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

 _Or perhaps I won't have to. If I can bring myself to admit what's wrong_.

"Aside from the obvious, nothing."

"The obvious?"

"Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes."

"Obtuse? Me? I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele."

"Well, don't, then."

His lips twitch into a smile. "I have missed your smart mouth over the past week, Anastasia."

I withhold my gasp and I want to hell at him. Remind him that he's the one that sent us both through hell this past week and a half. But instead, I keep quiet and gaze out the glass fishbowl that is Charlie Tango's windshield as we continue south. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizon—large, blazing fiery orange—and I am Icarus above the ocean and lone island, flying far too close to the evening sun.

"Just don't interfere with my work," I manage to mutter. And from there, the ride is silent.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The dusk follows us from Seattle, and the sky is awash with illuminating opal, soft pinks, and stunning aquamarines that are woven seamlessly together as only Mother Nature knows how. It's a clear, crisp evening, and the lights of Portland twinkle along the skyline, welcoming us as Christian flawlessly sets the helicopter down on the helipad. We are on top of the same brown brick building in Portland that I have become familiar with in the past three years.

Thinking back, nearly three years is hardly any time at all. Yet, it's as if I've known Christian for a lifetime. Of course, if that was true, I probably never would have endured the wrath of husband number three. Christian powers down Charlie Tango, flipping various switches so the rotors stop, and eventually, all I hear is my own breathing through the headphones. Briefly, it reminds me of the Thomas Tallis experience. A night—a fight—from a lifetime ago, that I don't want to remember.

Christian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine.

"Good trip, Miss Steele?" he asks, his voice mild, his eyes glowing.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey," I reply politely.

"Well, let's go see the boy's photos." He holds his hand out to me and taking it, I climb out of Charlie Tango.

"I really wish you would be nicer about José," Leila pipes up. I find her getting herself out of Charlie Tango will skilled ease, although she's probably ridden in the helicopter less than I have. _After all, I was the first._

A gray-haired man with a beard walks over to meet us, grinning broadly, and I recognize him as the same man from the last time we were here.

"Joe." Christian smiles and releases my hand to shake Joe's warmly.

"Keep her safe for Stephan. He'll be along around eight or nine."

"Will do, Mr. Grey. Mrs. Grey, Miss. Steele," he says, nodding at me. "Your car's waiting downstairs, sir. Oh, and the elevator's out of order; you'll need to use the stairs."

"Thank you, Joe."

Christian takes my hand as we head to the emergency stairs, and when he attempts to reach for Leila's she swats him away, causing him to frown.

"Good thing for you this is only three floors, in those heels," he mutters in disapproval as he looks down at my choice of footwear.

 _No kidding_.

"They're boots. You're all always teasing me about my constant need to wear flats. Don't you like the boots?"

"I like them very much, Anastasia." His gaze darkens and I think he might say something else, but he stops. "Come. We'll take it slow. I don't want you falling and breaking your pretty neck."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

We sit in silence as our driver takes us to the gallery. My anxiety has returned full force, and I realize that our time in Charlie Tango has been the eye of the storm. Christian is quiet and brooding . . . apprehensive even. Our lighter mood from earlier—despite Leila's presence—has dissipated. There's so much I want to say, but this journey is too short and Leila is still here. Christian stares pensively out the window.

"So, do you think you might finally give José a chance?" Leila asks, finally looking up from her BlackBerry, which I notice isn't the same as the one Christian had gifted me. In fact, it's not even the previous version that I currently have—it's the model from before.

"José is just a friend," I murmur.

Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes dark and guarded, giving nothing away like the ocean of misery he's put me in. My eyes first down to his mouth, which is as distracting and unbidden as ever. I remember it on me—on every inch of my flesh. My skin heats at the brief memory and he shifts in his seat and frowns.

"Have you talked to your father at all? Those beautiful eyes look too large in your face, Anastasia. Please tell me you'll eat."

"Yes, Christian, I'll eat," I answer automatically, a platitude, "And no, I haven't talked to Ray, but way to lay on the guilt."

"I mean it."

"Do you, now?" I cannot keep the disdain out of my voice. Honestly, the audacity of this man—this man who has put me through hell over the last week and a half. _No, that's wrong. I've put myself through hell. No. It's him. He's the one who made me leave. I would have stayed forever._

"I don't want to fight with you, Anastasia. I hate the thought of you returning to what you had let yourself become when we first met. I just want what's best for you. I want you healthy," he says.

 _Ah, the brief fear of an impending eating disorder three and a half years ago. Never diagnosed, but so close to reality I was nearly shipped off at Christian's insistence._

"But nothing's changed."

 _You're still fifty shades and you think I'm the one that cheated on you when you're really still sleeping with your wife._

"Let's talk on the way back. We're here."

The car pulls up in front of the gallery, and Christian climbs out, leaving me speechless. He opens the car door for me and for Leila, and I clamber out while she gracefully makes her exit.

"Why do you do that?" My voice is louder than I expected.

"Do what?" Christian is taken aback.

"Say something like that and then just stop."

"Anastasia, we're here. Where you want to be. Let's do this and then talk. I don't particularly want a scene in the street."

I glance around. He's right. It's too public. And again, she is here. I press my lips together as he glares down at me.

"Okay," I mutter sulkily. Clasping my hand, he takes me into the building, while Leila holds her phone between both hands—staring at the screen intently as her fingers fly over the keys.

We are in a converted warehouse—brick walls, dark wood floors, white ceilings, and white pipe work. It's airy and modern, and there are several people wandering across the gallery floor, sipping wine and admiring José's work. For a moment, my troubles melt away as I grasp that José has achieved his dream.

"Good evening and welcome to José Rodriguez's show." A young woman dressed in black with very short brown hair, bright red lipstick, and large hooped earrings greets us. She glances briefly at me, then at Leila, then much longer than is strictly necessary at Christian, then turns back to me, blinking as she blushes.

My brow creases. _He's mine—or was._ I try hard not to scowl at her and as her eyes regain their focus, she blinks again.

"Oh, it's you, Ana. We'll want your take on all this, too." Grinning, she hands me a brochure and directs me to a table laden with drinks and snacks.

"You know her?" Christian frowns and so does Leila as she grasps a brochure for herself.

I shake my head, equally puzzled.

He shrugs, distracted. "What would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a glass of white wine, thank you."

His brow furrows, but he holds his tongue before he turns to Leila.

"Lei?"

"Huh?"

"Your drink?"

"Oh, the same," she shrugs.

Christian shakes his head as he rolls his eyes in exasperation before he turns and heads for the open bar.

"Ana!"

José comes barreling through a crowd of people.

He's wearing a suit that for once, fits and he's beaming at me, which only makes Leila smirk with satisfaction. He enfolds me in his arms, hugging me hard and it's all I can do not to burst into tears. _A friend—_ he's my only friend while Kate is away and the thought makes tears pool in my eyes.

"Ana, I'm so glad you made it," he whispers in my ear. Abruptly he holds me at arm's length, examining me.

"What?"

"Hey, are you okay? You look, well, odd. Dios mío, have you lost weight?"

I blink back my tears— _not him too_. "José, I'm fine. I'm just so happy for you. Congratulations on the show." My voice wavers as I see the concern etched on his oh-so-familiar face, but I have to hold myself together for my own sake, as well as Christian's.

"How did you get here?" he asks, glancing briefly at Leila.

"Christian brought us," I say, suddenly apprehensive.

"Oh." José's face falls and he releases me. "Where is he?" His expression darkens.

"Over there, fetching drinks," Leila nods in Christian's direction and I notice that he's exchanging pleasantries with someone waiting in line. Christian glances up and our eyes lock. And in that brief moment, I'm paralyzed, staring at the impossibly handsome man who gazes at me with some unfathomable emotion. His dark gray gaze hot, burning into me my soul, and we're lost for a moment staring at each other.

 _Holy shit . . ._ Just from his stare, I can see that this beautiful man wants me back, and deep down inside me sweet joy slowly unfurls like a morning glory in the early dawn.

"Ana!" José distracts me, and I'm dragged back to the here and now. "I am so glad you came—listen, I should warn you—"

Suddenly, Miss Very Short Hair and Red Lipstick cuts him off. "José, the journalist from the Portland Printz is here to see you. Come on." She gives me a polite smile.

"How cool is this? The fame." He grins, and I can't help but grin back—he's so happy it's disarming. "Catch you later, Ana, Leila." He kisses my cheek, and I watch him stroll over to a young woman standing by a tall, lanky photographer.

José's photographs are everywhere, and in some cases, blown up onto huge canvases. There are both monochromes and colors. There's an ethereal beauty to many of the landscapes. In one taken near the lake at Vancouver, it's early evening and pink clouds are reflected in the stillness of the water. Briefly, I'm transported by the tranquility and the peace. It's quite stunning.

Christian joins me and hands me my glass of white wine.

"Does it come up to scratch?" My voice sounds more normal.

He looks quizzically at me.

"The wine."

"No. Rarely does at these kinds of events. The boy's quite talented, isn't he?" Christian is admiring the lake photo.

"Why else do you think I asked him to take your portrait when Kate wrote that article?" The pride is obvious in my voice. His eyes glide impassively from the photograph to me.

"We should purchase a photo or two—for the house in Aspen," Leila says wistfully, "He would love that. Perhaps one for a housewarming present for Kate and Ana, so we can support him."

Christian's brow furrows, but he nods and manages a smile at his wife.

"Sure, whatever you want."

"I'm going to look around," Leila says before walking off by herself.

"Christian Grey?" The photographer from the Portland Printz approaches Christian. "Can I have a picture, sir?"

"Sure." Christian hides his scowl. I step back, but he grabs my hand and pulls me to his side. The photographer looks at both of us and can't hide his surprise.

"Mr. Grey, thank you." He snaps a couple of photos. "Miss ...?" he asks.

"Ana Steele," I reply.

"Thank you, Miss Steele." He scurries off.

 _Twice now, he's let someone take our picture._

"I looked for pictures of you with dates on the Internet when I first met you. There aren't any. That's why Kate thought you were gay."

Christian's mouth twitches into a smile. "That explains your inappropriate question. No, I didn't do dates, Anastasia—not even with Leila when we married. Only you. But you know that." His voice is quiet with sincerity.

"So you never took your"—I glance around nervously to check no one can overhear us—"subs out?"

"Sometimes. Not on dates. Shopping, you know." He shrugs, his eyes not leaving mine.

 _Oh, so just in the playroom—his Red Room of Pain and his apartment. I don't know what to feel about that._

"Just you, Anastasia," he whispers.

I blush and stare down at my fingers. In his own way, he does care about me.

"Although quite talented, your friend here seems more of a landscape man, not portraits. Let's look around."

I take the offer of his outstretched hand and we wander past a few more prints. As we walk, I notice a couple nodding at me, smiling broadly as if they know me. It must be because I'm with Christian, but one young man is blatantly staring. _Odd_.

We turn the corner, and I see why I've been getting strange looks. Hanging on the far wall are seven huge portraits—of me.

I stare blankly at them, stupefied, the blood draining from my face. Me: pouting, laughing, scowling, serious, amused. All super close up, all in black and white.

 _Holy shit!_ I remember José messing with the camera on a couple of occasions when he was visiting and when I'd been out with him as driver and photographer's assistant. I had thought he had taken snapshots—not these invasive candid shots.

Christian is staring, transfixed, at each of the pictures in turn.

"Seems I'm not the only one," he mutters cryptically, his mouth settling into a hard line.

"Excuse me," he says, pinning me with his bright gaze for a moment. Then he heads to the reception desk.

 _What's his problem now?_ I watch mesmerized as he talks animatedly with Miss Very Short Hair and Red Lipstick. He fishes out his wallet and produces his credit card.

 _Shit. He must have bought one of them. How is he going to explain that one to Leila?_

"Hey. You're the muse. These photographs are terrific." A young man with a shock of bright blond hair startles me. I feel a hand at my elbow and Christian is back.

"You're a lucky guy." Blond Shock says to Christian, who gives him a cold stare.

"That I am," he mutters darkly, as he pulls me over to one side.

"Ana?"

I turn to Leila as she comes around the corner with a wide-eyed expression.

"There's something you need to see."

"I think we've seen it all," I mutter.

"No, Ana," she says gently. "You really haven't."

Christian grasps my hand and pulls me around the next corner, where he suddenly stops cold.

There upon the wall, hang even more portraits. I stare blankly ahead, my heart nearly stopping this time around. Me: sleeping, wrapped in the arms of a faceless man—the man that I know is Christian—tied up, coming. All candid, all in black and white.

"C—Christian—" I whisper.

His arms are around me in a millisecond, hugging me close to his chest, his hand holding the back of my head protectively.

"Is that what I think it is?" he whispers hoarsely.

I nod and Leila touches my arm, hesitantly.

"Ana, I didn't even know you were seeing someone. But you could have given us a little forewarning—"

"I didn't know!"

Leila's bourbon eyes widen a fraction as she glances up at Christian and then again, at me.

"Wait, he's not the one in the photos?"

"No," I say thickly.

Christian's lips brush against my forehead before he grasps my face in between his hands.

"Did he have your permission for any of this, Anastasia? I need to know."

I search his storm gray orbs full of intensity and shake my head as the tears well up in my eyes.

"No," I breathe.

"Holy shit! Ana, that's a ring!" I glance up to what she's pointing at and nearly wilt at the sight. "You're sleeping with a married man?" she hisses.

I gape up at the portrait. It's the one where my head is thrown back in bliss and Christian's hand is firmly wrapped around the base of my throat. In the moment, I am grateful for José's photography skills because due to the editing, you can't see the identifying details of the ring.

"Ana!" she snaps. "Explanation. Please!"

"I—It—It was a professor," I choke out quickly. "It was a one-time thing and it's over."

"You slept with a professor for a grade?" she hisses.

"I didn't say that," I say slowly.

"Then, why? I mean, God Ana! Kate and I thought you were still a virgin. When? Why?"

"It was only a few weeks ago, right before finals," I say remembering that exact night clearly. "It just sort of happened, okay? It's not going to happen again."

"And how? Just . . . how could you sleep with a man who's married?"

"Leila, that's enough." Christian's voice is stern.

"I need to talk to José."

"I'm going to go get someone to talk to about getting these taken down," Leila frowns. "Maybe I know someone here."

She walks off and I notice that Christian is staring at me as if I'm crazy.

"You're not talking to him alone."

"He knows, Christian," I say carefully, studying his face as I do. "I don't have a choice."

"Anastasia—"

I turn away from him in search of José and when I find him he's talking to a group of young women. I stalk off toward him and away from Fifty. _Just because he brought me here, I have to do as he says? Who the hell does he think he is?_

The girls are hanging off of every word he says, and as I approach one of them gasps, recognizing me from the portraits.

"José," I call.

"Ana. Excuse me, girls," he grins at them and puts his arm around me, attempting to act smooth and suave when at the moment he's anything but.

"Thanks for the warning about the portraits!" I snap.

"I suppose I should have told you," he regards me coolly.

"You took pictures of me sleeping. Of me . . ." I trail off and shake my head, attempting to hide my disgust.

"You just want to know if I'll tell her."

The man standing before me, is not the José I've known as a friend all these years. Instead stands a man who is a complete stranger.

"José, you invaded my personal space. You took nude photos of me without my permission. Without, _his_ permission. You're lucky it's me who's standing in front of you, right now and not him."

Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and produces a flash drive.

"Every single photo is right here, and when I get home I'll delete every photo from my hard drive."

"Thank you," I say, reaching for the usb.

"Not so fast," he says, pulling it away from within my reach. "I want to know how long."

"It was that one time."

He scoffs as he stares me head-on.

"No, Ana. It wasn't. I took one initial photo the weekend before that night at the bar, then I set up a camera to get those real personal shots," his voice sends a shiver done my spine. "So, tell me, how long?"

"A few weeks maybe?" I lie. "Does it really matter? It's over now and it was a mistake I won't be making again."

"I think I'll give this to you, but keep my personal copies. We can do lunch when Kate gets back from Barbados."

I feel my lip tremble as I look up at him.

"You're blackmailing me into being your friend?"

"Yep."

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"

"At least I'm not a whore."

"Back the fuck off."

I look back to see Leila, just as she wraps an arm around me protectively.

"You are going to stay away from my sister," she sneers.

"Oh, Leila, if you only knew the real Ana."

She only rolls her eyes in response before she snatches the flash drive and drops it into my purse. Then she forces me to turn away and we head back towards where Christian is once again walking away from the red-lipped woman.

"Did you get the negatives?" she asks him.

"No," he says angrily, and again she's off.

"Did you just buy one of these?" I ask, feeling horrified as we come upon the photos featuring the one expression I know Christian never wanted anyone but him to see.

"One of these?" he snorts, not taking his eyes off the wall made of _us_.

"You bought more than one?"

He rolls his eyes. "I bought them all, Anastasia. I don't want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their home."

My first inclination is to laugh but I'm in such a state of disbelief that I can't.

"You'd rather it was you?" I scoff.

He glares down at me, clearly caught off guard by my audacity, but still trying his best to hide his amusement as he arches on eyebrow.

"Frankly, yes."

"Pervert," I whisper before I proceed to turn my pout up at him as bait before biting my lower lip to prevent my teasing smile.

When his mouth stops open, his amusement is obvious. Catching my equally amused grin, he makes a show of thoughtfully stroking his chin.

"Can't argue with that assessment, Anastasia." He sorrowfully shakes his head but I sew the moment his molten gray eyes soften with humor.

"I'd discuss it further with you, but I've signed an NDA."

He sighs, gazing at me, and his eyes darken to a storm gray ash. "What I'd like to do to your smart mouth," he murmurs.

Knowing full well what he means, I can't help but gasp at his words.

Seemingly shocked, I scoff. "You're very rude." _Has he no boundaries when we're in public? With Leila, nonetheless!_

He smirks, seemingly amused before he suddenly frowns.

"You look very relaxed in these photographs, Anastasia. I don't get the pleasure of seeing you like that very often."

A complete change of subject—from playful to serious in a matter of seconds.

I flush, glancing down at my fingers nervously. Then his fingers are on my skin, I inhale sharply at the contact just as he tilts my head back and proceeds to shock the hell out of me.

"I want you," he whispers, all former traces of humor have gone and disappeared.

Deep inside me, the small spark of joy stirs. _How can this be possible? We have issues. So many issues. We could spend an eternity trying to solve them._

"You lost that right when you broke up with me," I snarl.

"What did you expect, Anastasia?"

"For you to hear me out. For you to have a little faith in the girl who has given you everything over the last three years."

"It wasn't that easy," he murmurs, and his hand drops back to his side.

"I have the email from Dr. Greene to prove that I was clean."

He frowns, looking utterly lost as he studies the portraits of just me, that hang above us.

"I want you to be that relaxed with me," he whispers.

"You have to stop intimidating me if you want that," I snap.

"You have to learn to communicate and tell me how you feel," he snaps back, eyes blazing with fury or frustration—it's hard to tell.

I take a deep breath. "Christian, you were never okay with me just being . . . me. You wanted me as your submissive and that's where the problem lies. It's the definition of a submissive—you emailed it to me once." I pause, trying to recall the wording. "I think the synonyms were, and I quote, 'compliant, pliant, amenable, passive, tractable, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued.' I wasn't allowed to look at you. I wasn't allowed to talk to you unless you gave me explicit permission to do so. What do you expect?" I hiss at him.

His frown deepens as I continue.

"It's very confusing being with you. You say you don't want me to defy you, but then you make comments about liking my 'smart mouth' and then manage to give it right back instead of punishing me. Then you want obedience, except for when you don't, so you can punish me as you deem fit. I just don't know which way is up and which way is down when I'm with you. Then, there's Leila. I can't be blamed for things that she does. You can't punish me for your _wife's_ transgressions."

He narrows his eyes. "Good point well made, as usual, Miss Steele." His voice is frigid. "Come, let's find Leila and go eat."

"We've only been here for half an hour."

"You've seen the photos and you've spoken to the boy."

"His name is José."

"You've spoken to José—the man who, the last time I met him, was trying to push his tongue into your reluctant mouth while you were drunk and sick," he snarls.

"He's never hit me," I spit at him.

Christian scowls, fury emanating from every pore of his body. "That's a very low blow, Anastasia," he whispers menacingly.

I pale, and Christian runs his hands through his unruly hair, fuming with barely contained anger. As he looks up to glare at me, I glare right back at him.

"I'm taking you for something to eat. You're fading away in front of me. Let's find my _wife_ and go."

"Talk about a low blow," I mutter.

Appearing at least slightly guilty, Christian looks up towards the door and freezes.

"Shit. Fucking photographers."

"T—The photos. They're going to know it's me. Christian," I cry, "They'll be all over."

He pulls me close and grasps my head, guiding my face into the crook of his neck.

"I promise you, it's being taken care of. No one will ever again see you in the throes of passion. Those photos are going up in our room," he murmurs into my ear. "We will own them, Anastasia. No one can take that power away from you. Not even that Rodriguez fucker. You are beautiful when you come, Little One, and no one can take that moment from us. No one."

I pull back slightly and gaze up at him in awe.

"Our room?"

The corner of his mouth turns up in amusement.

"That's all you got out of that?"

"Yes, that and Little One," I murmur in a daze.

Seeing Leila approaching with José on her tail, I attempt to pull back from his grasp, but he holds on, shaking his head as they reach us.

"The pictures are fantastic, José—you're a very talented photographer."

He beams. "Thank you, Christian. Do you like them?" he asks me.

"Um . . . I don't know," I answer truthfully, momentarily knocked off balance by his question after our previous conversation just minutes earlier.

"Well, they're all sold, so somebody likes them. How cool is that? You're a poster girl."

He reaches in for a hug that I'm reluctantly ready to accept, but Christian pulls me back against his chest, glowering at him.

"Mr. Rodriguez, very impressive." Christian sounds icily polite. "I'm sorry we can't stay longer, but we need to head back to Seattle. Anastasia?" He subtly stresses the word we and takes my hand as he does so.

"Bye, Ana," José says and then attempts to lean in for a kiss on the cheek, but once again Christian halts his efforts.

"I'm going to make myself very clear, Mr. Rodriguez. I don't like you and I don't want you anywhere near Anastasia. Or Leila. Or even Katherine Kavanagh. Got it?" he snarls. "Oh, and one other thing. It's Mr. Grey to you."

He pulls me away and Leila follows silently until Christian stops.

"There's paps outside. We can't go out that way."

"Taylor is waiting up front, take Ana around back and we'll meet you at the end of the block."

"Thank you, Leila," I say hoarsely.

She only nods, and before I know it, Christian is dragging me out of the building through a back door. I can practically feel him boiling with silent wrath, but I am too.

He looks quickly up and down the street then heads left and suddenly sweeps me into a side alley, abruptly pushing me up against a brick wall. He grabs my face between his hands, forcing me to look up into his determined eyes.

I gasp, and his mouth swoops down to claim mine, then he's kissing me, violently. Briefly, our teeth clash, then his tongue is in my mouth.

Desire explodes like kryptonite throughout my body, and then I'm kissing him back, matching his fervor, my hands knotting in his hair, pulling at it as hard as I can. He groans a lowly, the sound reverberating in the back of his throat and through me. Then, his hand moves down my body to the top of my thigh, his fingers digging into my flesh through the plum dress.

I pour all the angst and heartbreak of the last week into our kiss, binding him to me, and it hits me—in this moment of blinding passion—he's doing the same, he feels the same way. He's missed me just as much as I've missed him.

He abruptly breaks off the kiss, panting as his eyes are illuminated with desire, firing the already heated blood that is pounding through my body. My mouth goes slack as I try to drag air into my needy lungs and I rest against the brick of the building in an attempt to relax.

"You. Are. Mine," he snarls, emphasizing each word. He pushes away from me and bends, hands on his knees as if he's run a marathon. "For the love of God, Ana."

I lean against the wall, panting, trying to control the reaction in my body, trying to find my equilibrium.

"I'm sorry," I whisper once my breath has returned.

"You should be. You don't even know what you were doing. Do you want the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you— the disgusting little fucker."

I shake my head, guiltily. "No, Christian. He's just a friend. Hell, he's not even that anymore. I'm so sorry."

"I have spent all my adult life trying to avoid any extreme emotion. Yet you . . . you bring out feelings in me that are completely alien. It's very . . ." He frowns, grasping for the word. "Unsettling. I like control, Ana, and around you that just"—he stands, his gaze intense as he gasps—"evaporates." He waves his hand vaguely, then runs it through his hair and takes a deep breath before he clasps my hand.

"Come, you need to eat."

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Hello Lovelies,**

 **Sorry for the wait! This one is super long. Almost 12,000 words!**

 **Want updates on my writing? Join the Facebook group Sara Jo Updates. Link is in my profile.**

 **Recommend FanFiction:** Revenge by Imaginationgirl91

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**

 **Note: from reviews that have been left I see that there is some confusion. Please remember:**

 **1\. When Christian and Ana finally see one another, it's been a week and a half since we've seen Christian and his POV**

 **2\. Christian is smart and cunning. Why wouldn't Christian keep Leila close while gathering information? They are still married after all.**

 **3\. Pay attention to the clues and you'll find your answers in future chapters. That's how this story works.**

 **4\. Ana is in love with Christian. Yes, he's made a mistake and while it looks like she should suspect that he really was sleeping with Leila, she knows her sister is a master manipulator.**

 **5\. In the future, if you have questions please feel free to sign in and PM me. I can't directly reply to those of you who review as a guest.**

 **Thank you.**


	13. Chapter 11

**Regarding Chapter 10 and the late update:**

 **Instead of responding to comments this time, I would just like to reassure you all of any confusion. There was a time jump that confused some because we went from Christian's POV back to Anas POV. Please remember, this story is slowly building. You will have answers to your questions. That to me, is what makes a story suspenseful and keeps me coming back for more.**

 **While I appreciate all kind reviews and encouragement, responses will from here on out only be made to those of you who have signed into the website.**

 **Remember the words we've all heard at least once in our lives. "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all."**

 **Constructive Criticism is one thing. Straight up harassment is another.**

 **Song:**

 ** _Back To You_ by Selena Gomez**

 **and**

 ** _Iris_ Cover by Sleeping with Sirens**

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Despite the way Leila had worked her magic in the gallery, she was as cold as usual throughout dinner.

Christian mainly ignores her attitude, only throwing in a roll of his eyes when it seems most appropriate.

By the time we're done with our meal, Leila is wine drunk and I am once again an anxious mess.

When we step outside, the Audi sits at the curb, waiting with Taylor standing beside it.

Christian opens the door and asks me to wait before getting in the car, explaining that he wanted to make sure drunk Leila was closest to the window that she may need sometime during our journey. Then, with practiced ease, he maneuvers Leila into the car and helps her slide across so she's resting against the window.

With an okay from Christian, I climb in and sink into the plush leather seat and idly watch as Christian speaks with Taylor—thankful for a moment of silence after Leila's swift words during dinner.

 _"I can't believe you didn't tell me about Grandma Lambert. She was my grandmother growing up, not yours."_

 _"Yes, she was in your life. But she's my biological grandmother."_

 _"Well, even so, she sure didn't want to lay claim to you after Frank died. Evidently you didn't mean much to her after all."_

Her words, while cruel, held a grain of truth. Grandma Lambert had cut me out of her life. But that was just as much her fault as it was Carla's.

As Christian and Taylor both get into the car, I spare a glance at Christian, who looks irritated after tonights events.

Even I can admit that tonight has been more than hectic. Between Leila's surprising presence, Christian's change of heart, and José's betrayal I can't even think straight.

Christian pulls his Blackberry from his pocket and begins to go through emails as Taylor pulls away from the curb. With Leila drunkenly leaning against the window and Christian distracted, I allow myself a moment to examine him.

While looking at him head-on it appears his nose is perfectly straight, but as I examine his profile, I find that it curves up just slightly before the end. His full lips are curved slightly upward as he smirks at his phone, and his copper hair is laying across his forehead in an unruly mess of waves that make him look like he's just strolled off the runway. I find it inconceivable that this man was mine for a short time. Except for when he wasn't. He's not mine—he's far too perfect to he mine. That's why he's married to Leila.

Leila is perfect—long brunette hair that is neither too thick or too thin, and it falls down her back in a mass soft waves that reach her waist in just the right way. Her bourbon brown eyes look as of they're a muddy green in certain light, shining like jewels. She's tall, but not too tall compared to Christian. Slim, but not terribly rail thin. Her breasts are full and at least a full cup size above my own. Her skin is flawless, slightly freckled and evenly tanned, without so much as a burn.

Her nose is straight, with a slight pixie tip on the end. Her lips are a full pout and despite her almost permanent scowl, she has a great smile that leaves a dimple in her cheek. She's a man's wet dream and she's married to the hottest man in all of Seattle.

For the two of them, it was meant to be.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

A soft but grand orchestral piece fills the car with music as Taylor drives, heading for Seattle. It's a piece I know I've heard Christian himself play once long ago. As I lose myself in the music I feel Christian's hand slide along my thigh as he shifts to face me.

"I want to talk to you about something."

I nervously glance at Leila and see that she appears to be asleep with her head resting back against the seat.

"Leila can't hear you," Christian says as he reassuringly squeezes my thigh.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Leila," Christian calls. She doesn't respond. "Leila." He calls again, and still he receives no response. Christian leans across my lap and taps her thigh. Again, Leila gives no response, instead, her head falls to the side in what looks to be a most uncomfortable position.

"Happy now?" he asks. "Taylor himself is listening to his iPod. Forget they're both here. I do. Although sometimes with Leila it's next to impossible. Your sister is _extremely_ annoying when she wants to be.

"Did you deliberately ask Taylor to do that?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that against protocol? It's dangerous for her to drive that way, isn't it?"

Christian sighs and with a roll of his eyes says, "You are too smart for your own good."

"I think that I just know you well."

He hums. "You may just be right about that, Little One."

"So, what is it that you want to talk about?"

"I have a question first," he says suddenly look quite determined.

"A question?"

"Yes. Think of it as a negotiation."

"Okay," I say warily. "My ears and mind are open."

"Do you want a regular relationship with me?"

"Well, yeah. I do. Or at least, I did."

"Meaning what exactly? Just boyfriend and girlfriend or casual dating? Do you not want to partake in our kinky fuckery at all?"

"Whoa! Slow your roll. First of all, I mean that while yes, I wanted a real relationship with you, you kind of fucked it all up last week."

"We will go back to that. I promise. But first, just indulge me. Without that happening, what did you mean by saying that you do want a relationship with me?"

"I mean, without your _wife_ in the picture. Ideally, I want us to be an _us_. Now second, what are you out a bad romance novel or something? Do I not want to _partake_ in our _kinky fuckery_ at all?" I snort in amusement. "Christian, did you forget that _I_ came onto _you_? I never would have done that if I wasn't okay with it on some level. Yes, there are parts that I don't understand, but the other parts . . ."

"So you do like it?"

"Yes! Of course, I do."

"Okay, " he sighs as if relieved. "That's what I thought. So what is it that you don't like?"

 _The fact that you're married? No_ _t being able to_ _see you when I want to? Not being able to_ _touch you_ _when I want to? The fact that you get off on_ _my pain_ _? The bite of that belt hanging on the wall of your playroom_

"I guess it's the threat of cruel and unusual punishment."

"I don't want a guess, Anastasia. I want the truth. I want you to be honest with me."

"Well, the main thing I don't like is the snoring object on my other side, " I frown, pointing to Leila over my shoulder. "Other than that, it's the fact that you're hiding me. The scheduling, the secrecy, the rules. I want to be able to touch you when I want to touch you. I want other people to know that you're mine just as much as I am yours. Then there's the belt . . ."

"What does that mean? I thought we resolved our issue over the belt? We tested your limits that one time and we talked it out afterwards."

"That was on Spring Break, Christian. You still have all of those canes and whips and belts in your playroom, and they scare the shit out of me. The pain aspect of the lifestyle has never been something I was interested in. You accepted that I don't want to use the canes as a hard limit. What's so different about the whips or the belts?"

"I didn't realize how much the belting had affected you."

"We agreed then that we would talk it out when we went over the contract and you seemed to skim over it. Sometimes you just intimidate me so much that I can't think straight."

His eyes soften in the light and he takes my hand in his, squeezing it softly.

"Okay, so no canes, no harsh whips, and absolutely no belts."

"So we're redefining the hard limits now?"

"I suppose you could look at it that way. But really, I need to know how you feel about every aspect of our relationship. I need to know how you feel about revisiting _our_ playroom again. And last, but certainly not least, I need to know what you do and don't like."

"I love our moments. I love talking to you and spending time with you. And frankly, I wouldn't even be entertaining you with this conversation if I didn't want to go back into our playroom. You're right. It's not yours, it's ours. I love that it's ours," I sigh, holding his hand tighter. "As for that last one, it's a little complicated. I don't understand the joy you feel when you're inflicting pain on me. I can't handle it emotionally or mentally. Add in the idea that you'll punish me when I cross some fanciful line."

"It is most certainly not fanciful. The rules are written down for your safety and my sanity. They are in fine print."

"I want a real relationship with you, Christian. I don't want us to follow a list of rules. I want us to just _be_."

"No rules at all?"

"No rules."

"Zero?"

"Nada."

His brow furrows as if he's deep in thought while he studies my face.

"You said nothing about spanking. You don't mind if I spank you?"

"It depends. What are you spanking me with?"

"This." He holds up his hand and for a moment he looks racked with nerves.

I squirm at the sight and a slow smile spreads across his lips.

"No, I happen to like that quite a lot—unless you're doing it to brutally punish me. Like after I rolled my eyes at you. I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all."

"Can you tell me when you have liked a spanking?"

"The night you used the silver balls."

I feel heat rush to my face as I recall the night we used them—it so happened to be the very night he had unknowingly wrapped his hand around my throat as pictures we're taken of us without our knowledge.

The first part I would willingly do again. The second? Well, I was just happy to know that Christian had not only bought the portraits but had received the negatives—and planned to have any evidence on José's laptop deleted.

He smirks deviously. "Yes, that was quite thrilling."

"More than thrilling," I mutter. "Mind-blowing seems adequate."

"Hmm, I suppose it does. So, in other words, you can deal with some pain."

I shrug offhandedly. "Yes, I suppose."

 _Whe_ _re_ _exactly_ _is he going with this?_

Deep down, I know that I enjoy pain on some thermonuclear level, that is after all why I'm sleeping with a married man. It's a decision I've made that is pure agony.

I watch as he strokes his chin, resting his elbow against the edge of the window.

"I want to start over." At my frown, he shakes his head, "Just hear me out. I want us to start over with just vanilla. Later on, when you trust me, and I can trust you to not only be honest but to communicate with me, we can experiment and test your limits."

I stare at him in a state of astonishment—he looks calm, cool, and collected, but I know him well enough to decipher that deep inside he's an anxious mess.

"I don't understand. You need to punish me, to—"

"I don't _need_ any if it, Ana. Not like I need you."

His words ring true, and for the first time ever, we're having an earnest, open conversation about what we both truly want and need from one another.

For once, we're on the same page. He wants to experience what the light has to offer— _but can I ask him to do this just for me? Can I, in good faith, let him give up a part of himself? Don't I like that dark, deprived part of his soul?_

Then, it occurs to me, that he's still not given me an explanation for his actions.

"You say these things, but you still want me at your mercy. You want me to put my faith in you. What about you accusing me of the unthinkable in your office? Calling me a whore. Throwing a fucking check at me like I was there to serve you . . ."

"All I can do is apologize and ask that you give me time—time to explain my actions. I just need to figure out a few things first, and then we will have a talk about it. Now, you mentioned punishments. There will be no punishments. None."

"If you tell me why you brought her a limb tonight then I can accept that. But if there not punishments, then what about the rules?"

"All I will say is, 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.' A very apt quote from the writers of The Godfather II—Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola. It's advice I hope that you also keep in mind over the next few weeks. As for rules, zero."

"Zero? But what about what you need?"

"Oh Anastasia, after nearly ten days in purgatory, I've come to learn that I need you far more than some contract filled with a list of rules and punishments. Every fiber of my being tells me to let you be, because a shell of a man like me does not deserve an angel such as you."

"I'm no angel, Christian," I whisper. "I've done horrible things."

"Ana, no," he shakes his head. "Any pain that has occurred is because of me. In the first set of portraits that the photographer took, I can see what it is he sees in you. You look tranquil and alluring. Not that you're not alluring now, of course. It's just that, when you sit before me, I can see your anguish. Knowing that I'm the cause of that, it's agonizing."

"I've caused my own pain, Christian. Your words that day, they hurt. But what more could I expect after sleeping with a man who's married to my sister? I made the conscious decision to pursue you."

"Don't you understand it would have happened either way?" he murmurs "I had been entertaining the idea of pursuing you for weeks before that night. I am the one who walked into Clayton's and bought zip ties and rope, knowing that you had no idea what they signified.

"I'm a selfish man, Anastasia. I've wanted you long before the moment you fell into my arms at the family barbecue."

"I did that on purpose," I admit shamefully.

"You did?"

"Yes. I freely admit that. I've wanted you since long before that day too. Even before you took Leila on as your Submissive."

"That's not possible, Little One."

"It is though," I insist. "I saw you that day—"

"I watched you before I ever met Leila," he murmurs. "It few years prior, you must have been fifteen at the time. I had just recently started contracting Submissives on my own and _Esclava_ had just had its grand opening. I was dropping off some paperwork and you were sitting there getting your nails done, all alone."

"Y—Y—You saw me that day?" I stutter in disbelief.

"You saw me?" he breathes. "Ana, you were a young teenager—"

"I was forced to be there with Leila. She was in Elena's office, which means Leila was already subbing."

"That's very possible. But I didn't meet her until the second time I saw you at _Esclava_. Even then, I knew you were too young, too innocent."

"I wanted you," I breathe. "When I saw you, I remember thinking that you were the most attractive man I had ever seen. No one had caught my eye, not like you. Then Elena stepped out of her office with Leila. I may have seen you first, but she saw you second."

"That doesn't matter. _I_ saw _you_ first. I've gotten to see just how lovely you are. Your morals, your compassion for others. The strength you have to keep on pushing through no matter how anyone treats you. You have wit beyond measure all the while having a disarming innocence about you. I could go on and on about you, Ana—the list is endless. And the mere thought of some other bastard having you, it cuts me to the quick like a knife right in the depths of my starless soul."

 _H_ _oly shit_. _Was that what I think it was? Because if_ _that_ _was_ _n't a declaration of love, I don't know what is._

"I have no morals or compassion. Least of all strength. If I was any of those things you've said, I wouldn't be in the position I am now. But you, Christian Grey, you are far from a starless soul. Perhaps a little dim at times when you're down, but you are a truly good soul. You're far beyond generous, compassionate, and your honesty knows no bounds. And until last Monday, I don't believe you had ever lied to me. Not like I lied to you, anyway."

Looking completely baffled he tilts his head to the side. "Lied about what?"

"My intentions. You know, in the beginning, I had every intention of protecting you because I knew—I know—what she's capable of. Then, after watching you with her . . . the way you looked at her when she wasn't looking . . ." I trail off and shake my head in disgust. "It made me physically ill. So, I got angry. I tricked myself into thinking that I wanted to hurt you—when really I only wanted to hurt her. I twisted and bent myself over backward trying to become someone that I'm just not.

"I never intended for it to go this far—this deep. But it did—it has. I never set out to hurt you, but I'm afraid that I have because what you had with her—at least on your end—it's not there anymore. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I think that you can see it and I'm afraid because I think that she can feel it."

"Oh, Anastasia," he murmurs.

I choke back a sob as I continue.

"And I haven't tried very hard to get over you. Last Monday completely destroyed me. My mind was completely frazzled by everything going on around me. When Grandma died that night, all I wanted to do was hear your voice. But I couldn't because what if you were still angry or if Elliot hadn't talked to you or if you hadn't believed him—I knew emailing you or calling you wouldn't please you.

"You please me all the time, Little One," he whispers. "How often do I have to tell you that? Besides that, no matter how I felt, if you had asked for me to come—I would have been there in a heartbeat to help you."

"Oh, Christian," I murmur. "I just never know what you're thinking. There are times when you're so closed off that you're like an island state. Then there are times when you seem to just drown me out like an angry ocean. That's why I can't tell you how I feel or what I'm thinking. I never know which way your mood is going to go. It goes up and down and back again in a millisecond. It's mind-boggling. Then there's the not-so-little fact that you won't let me touch you, and I want to so bad," I plead. "I need to be able to touch you to show you just how much I love you."

In the brief flashes of street lights in the dark, I see his wary look of uncertainty, and I can't take it a moment longer. I take him by surprise as I quickly unbuckle my seat belt.

He protests, "Ana—" And I clamber into his lap where I place both of my hands on his cheeks.

"I love you, Christian Grey. I love you so much, it hurts. I know it's wrong. I know what I've done is wrong. I know you're married and in love and with Leila. I know that. You're prepared to do all this for me—to shelter a part of you that makes you who you are. You claim that you don't deserve me, but it's quite the opposite, I think. I'm so sorry that I can't be what you need me to be—that I can't do all those things you need to do. I can hope, that maybe with time, I can learn to be the Submissive that my Dominant craves . . ."

"All I could ever want or hope for is sitting right here in my lap. I just need to know if you feel the same way. Will you have me?"

"Yes, if the offer still stands, I accept. Where do I sign?"

He snakes his arms around me and crushes me to him, holding me as a willing captive.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes as he buries his nose in my hair and lets out a large sigh of satisfaction.

Soothing piano music drifts throughout the car as we sit with our arms wrapped around one another. I'm enjoying the tranquility of the moment after the eye of the storm, snuggling into his embrace as I rest my head in the crook of his neck. I shiver as he gently strokes my back and Leila let's out a soft snore.

"Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia," he whispers. "That is the only way I know how to explain it."

"I know. I wish I understood why. I wish I could help by taking away the pain and taking it on myself."

"Oh, you sweet girl." He sighs and speaks softly. "My childhood was horrific. The crack whores pimp. . ." His voice trails off before he picks up again. "He beat me with a belt. I can remember that," he shudders and I shiver, remembering the bite all too well. "Those memories are not something that I've ever wanted to burden your extraordinary mind with, Little One. When we met, your innocence was always quite disarming. Even still, and it's something I've always cherished. I hate tarnishing such beauty with secrets from my horrid past."

I tighten my arms around his neck affectionately. "Was she abusive?" I ask, remembering the burn scars I am now far too familiar with.

"No, not that I can remember. She was neglectful though. I starved and not once did she protect me from her pimp." He snorts and shakes his head. "If anything, it was me who looked after her. Brushing her hair, singing to her as she laid there strung out. When she finally killed herself, it took about four days before the pimp found her and called it in. I remember that vividly.

I gasp in horror as bile threatens to spill from my lips. _Holy mother fuck._

"That's awfully fucked-up," I whisper.

"Fifty Shades of fucked-up, baby," he whispers.

"My, fifty shades," I murmur reassuringly.

I press my lips against his neck, seeking and offering my other half the gift of solace. I imagine him laying beside his mother—a small, dirty, and cold, gray-eyed boy—mentally and emotionally lost to circumstance.

 _Oh, Christian_ _. My Dominant. My lover. My soulmate._

I breathe in his heavenly scent—fresh linen and a dusting of rain—taking joy in my favorite fragrance in the entire world. He tightens his arms around my body and lovingly kisses the very top of my head, letting me sit wrapped in his embrace as Taylor speeds into the night.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

When I wake, it is to the gentle caress of Christians finger along my cheek.

"Hi," Christian says softly.

I sit up from my comfortable napping spot on his lap in the safety of his arms, blinking the sleep from my eyes as I stretch and murmur my apologies.

"I'm sorry."

"It's no problem, Little One. I could watch you sleep an eternity."

"Did I talk in my sleep?"

"No," he murmurs in amusement. "Not this time around anyway. We're almost to your place."

"We're not going to yours?" I playfully pout.

"No, Little One. Not tonight," he says affectionately.

"Why not?" I ask teasingly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Because you have work tomorrow and because while I adore you, it would be awfully hard to convince Leila that you needed to stay. Plus, we would both end up playing hooky tomorrow, and I thought you were enjoying your job."

"Oh. I am," I pout.

"Did my mischievous girl have something in mind?"

"Well, maybe," I squirm.

He chuckles and it reverberates throughout his body. "Oh, my dearest Anastasia, I am not going to touch you r delectable little body again, not until you beg me to."

"What!" I nearly shout and he shushes me.

"Shh! It is so that you'll start communicating with me. The next time we make love, I want you to be able to tell me exactly what it is you want in fine detail."

"Not if I make you beg first, Grey," I quip.

He gives me a challenging smirk.

"Game on, baby."

He shifts me off his lap and to his side as Taylor pulls up outside my apartment. It's then, that Leila finally makes a noise. Twisting in her seat, her head falls back onto the headrest and she lets out a sigh.

"Mmmrey," she murmurs.

Christian's forehead wrinkles in confusion and when his moon gray eyes meet mine in the dark shadow of the car, he looks lost.

Rolling his shoulders back, he shakes his head and turns, climbing out of the car to hold the car door open for me.

"Before you go, I have something for you." He moves to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and pulls out a large gift-wrapped box that looks like it was wrapped by a third grader. Meaning, that Christian himself had wrapped this special present.

"What is it?"

"Open it when you get inside and you'll find out."

"You're not coming in?"

"No, Anastasia."

"You're trying to trick me into going in like a good girl, rather than dealing with my usual reluctance."

He grins. "Yes."

"Then when will I get to see you?"

"Tomorrow."

"My boss wants me to go out for a drink tomorrow after work."

Christian's face grows menacing as be growls out, "Does he, now? Whatever for?"

"It's to celebrate my first week," I murmur meekly.

"Where is this celebratory after work drink taking place at?"

"I'm not quite sure where as of yet."

"I could pick you up from wherever there is."

"I would like that very much. I'll email or text you, is that okay?"

"Yes. I look forward to it. Now, I know tonight was odd having Leila around—"

"I understand why she was with. Even if you're angry with her, you have to keep up appearances. Plus, she's basically known José just as long as I have now—and she does enjoy a good art show."

"You are correct on all points, my brilliant girl," he smiles. "As I was saying, I believe Leila wanted to have you over for dinner tomorrow. Something about apologizing for your fight because you never answered her phone calls."

"I forgot about my phone," I shrug. "I left it with you and then I never switched my calls back to my old cell phone."

"Well, we'll do dinner with her. It will placate her for a while and then we can spend some time together afterward. Depending on the time, I may have to bring her along for drinks. I'll let you know once I find out."

Taking my hand in his, he walks me to the door of the lobby and patiently waits as I dig my keys out of my purse and unlock the door. The moment we're inside and out of view, he pulls me aside. Leaning forward, he gently grasps my chin as he tilts my head back and begins to leave a trial of kisses from my temple, down to the corner of my mouth. When his lips teasingly hover over mine for more than a second, a small moan escapes my wanting lips.

"Until tomorrow my Littlest One," he breathes.

The blatant need in my voice is evident as I bid him adieu. "Goodnight, Sir."

His smile is telling as he hands over my gift.

"In you go."

His voice is soft as he sends me on my way across the lobby until he calls out. "Laters, baby."

I giggle to myself as he gracefully turns around and heads back out to the car.

Quickly, I make my way to my apartment. Once safely locked inside, I open the haphazardly wrapped gift and find not only my MacBook Pro laptop and the BlackBerry, but a slim rectangular box wrapped in silver paper

 _What is this?_ _The man knows how I feel about him spending money on me, yet he goes and does this. After spending who knows how much at José's show!_

Ever so carefully, I slit open the silver paper to find a slim black leather case inside.

 _No. No . . . I_ _It can't be . . . can it?_

With shaking hands, I open the case, finding an iPad nestled inside. _Holy shit_ _. . . another_ _extravagant and unnecessary gif_ _t._

A white card rests on the screen with a message written in Christian's elegant handwriting:

 _Anastasia—this is_ _especially_ _for you._

 _I know what you want to hear._

 _The music on here says it for me._

 _Christian_

I, Anastasia Rose Steele, have a Christian Grey mix tape in the guise of a high-end iPad, in my hands. Okay, so maybe not an unnecessary gift, but still—an iPod would have sufficed. Still, the purchase surprises me. Despite not being very tech savvy myself, I've always known Apple is the way to go. Leila even has an iPad in her home office, so I know how they work. Yet even with his iPod, his MacBook laptop, and Apple everything at work—Christian is loyal to a fault when it comes to his blackberry.

I switch the iPad on and gasp as the first wallpaper image appears: a small model glider. Only, it's not just any little glider. It's the Blanik L-23 that I gave to him in the box of junk that I had Elliot deliver to him. It's now mounted on a glass stand that is resting on his desk at his office. _Oh,_ _Christian. The things you do as a man who claims to have no heart._

I now remember that he mentioned it in the note with the flowers he had sent— _which means he really did personally send the flowers and their accompanying note. And the glider!_

 _He built it! He really did build it._ The man I have fallen for so dearly has put a great deal of thought and time into this gift.

I slide the screen to unlock it and gasp again as the second wallpaper photo comes into view. A photo that I took on his phone one rainy weekend last fall. The only visible part of Christian's face is his jawline and his great smile—while both his arms are wrapped around my head as I laugh beneath their cover. It's one of my favorite photos—and one of our only. We both look so happy in it and I can't help but grin knowing that I'm the one that put that smile on his face that day. _H_ _e's_ _mine_

A gentle swipe of my finger makes the icons shift over so that several new ones appear on the next screen. There is the Kindle App, iBooks, Words, and _The British Library?!_

I touch the icon and I'm mentally stuttering in disbelief when the menu appears reading: Historical Collection. Scrolling down, I find Novels of the 18th and 19th Century listed. With bubbling excitement I select it and choose a title at random. There before me is a scanned copy of The American By Henry James. _Holy_ _shit_ —it's not just any copy, but an early edition, published in 1879. The man may claim that he doesn't do hearts and flowers but he's proved himself very wrong by purchasing the British Library for me at the touch of a on-screen button.

I quickly exit, knowing that I could lose myself in this gift for the rest of my pathetic life. Instead, I continue to scroll through his app purchases. A weather app from the local channel, a news app, an app for yoga and meditation, plus several apps featuring recipes and healthy eating. All very Christian, except he mentioned music. I go back to the main screen, and find the music, squealing to myself as a playlist appears. I scroll through the songs, and I'm floored by his charming actions. Frank Sinatra, Thomas Tallis,—a piece hard to forget when you've been flogged and fucked to it twice—then comes the Bach Marcello piece, Jeff Buckley, some Maroon 5—which at the moment is my favorite band—and a song called "Principles of Lust" by Enigma and another called "Possession." _Very_ _Christian._ Plus, even more, that I've never even heard of.

Selecting a song that catches my eye, I press play. One of my favorites "Things I'll Never Say" by Avril Lavigne. She starts to sing, and the familiar lyrics that tell me Christian is just as nervous and in love as I am, are like a breath of fresh air, soaking my soul in bliss as I burrow down into my bed.

 _The man that seems to have been born a Dom is actually just as much of a nervous mess as I am. He wants me just as much as I want him and he's willing to prove it._ I let the lyrics consume my mind as I attempt to wrap my mind around the concept of Christian wanting me to be his one and only. He truly wants to be by my side day and night. He actually feels something for me. Despite Leila. This beautiful gift of books and music, the portraits, the car,—that my dumb ass gave back—my student loans— _he cares. He really cares._ I feel as my heart swells with an abundance of love as I lose myself in the music.

The song ends and I quickly choose another by Avril Lavigne, "Keep Holding On"—a song made for a book turned movie, one that I loved very much. Tears flood my eyes as I hear the words and let them wash over me like a rushing river.

 _Could it be? Christian Grey_ _begging me to stay and be patient until the end? Am_ _I reading too much into this? I am probably reading too much into this._

Deciding that I need to email him to confess just how much this means to me, I reach for my laptop from the confines of the box and wipe my tears away.

Coldplay begins to play as I arrange myself so I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: IPAD

Date: June 9 2011 23:56

To: Christian Grey

You have made me cry once again.

I love the iPad.

I love the songs.

I love the British Library App.

I love you.

Thank you.

Good night.

Ana xx

From: Christian Grey

Subject: iPad

Date: June 10 2011 00:03

To: Anastasia Steele

I'm very happy that you like it. I happened to purchase one for myself too.

Now, if I were there, I would kiss away each and every one of your tears.

But I'm not—so go to sleep Little One.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

His response makes me giggle through my tears—still so domineering, which makes him my Christian. _Wi_ _th no rules, will_ _that change, too?_ In that defining moment, I realize that I hope it never disappears completely. I happen to enjoy his dominance quite a lot. As long as I can stand up to him face-to-face without the fear of his belt, I will be content.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Mr. Grumpy

Date: June 10 2011 00:07

To: Christian Grey

You sound just like your usual bossy, definitely tense, and possibly grumpy self, Mr. Grey.

I know something that could most definitely ease that. But then again, you're not here—you wouldn't let me stay, and you expect me to be the one to beg . . .

Keep dreaming, Sir.

Ana xx

PS: I have made note that you have included the Stalker's Anthem, "Every Breath You Take" in your enjoyable playlist. I do enjoy your sense of humor, but does Dr. Flynn know? I fear, it is time I met him so I may inform him of your stalking tendencies, Sir.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Zen-Like Calm

Date: June 10 2011 00:10

To: Anastasia Steele

My Dearest Miss Steele

You do know, that spanking occurs in vanilla relationships, too. Consensually and in a sexual context? Yes, but I am more than willing to make an exception if you decide to play this game.

You shall be relieved to know that Dr. Flynn also enjoys my sense of humor. Although, perhaps you are right. It is time the two of you met. I'm sure he'd enjoy psychoanalyzing our relationship.

Now, please do as I say and go to sleep like a good girl. As we both know, sleep will be nonexistent this weekend, starting tomorrow.

Incidentally—you should trust me when I say that you shall be the one to beg. And I look forward to it.

Christian Grey

Tense CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Good Night, Sweet Dreams

Date: June 10 2011 00:12

To: Christian Grey

Well, since you have asked ever so nicely, and I quite like your delicious threat, I shall curl up with the iPad that you have so kindly given me and fall asleep browsing the British Library, and listening to music, like the good girl I indeed, am.

A xxx

From: Christian Grey

Subject: One more request

Date: June 10 2011 00:15

To: Anastasia Steele

Dream of me and I shall dream of you, Little One.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Always

Date: June 10 2011 00:17

To: Christian Grey

Dream sweet dreams of you, Christian Grey? Always.

Ana xxxx

I quickly get ready for bed— brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing into my pajamas all before slipping under the covers. Putting one earbud in do I can still hear my alarm, I pull out the very-much-flattened Charlie Tango balloon from underneath the edge of my pillow before hugging it to me.

After the day I have had, I am in seventh heaven with a wide grin plastered on my face. The difference a day makes it just astounding

And I have to wonder how I'm ever going to relax enough to get any rest.

The Goo Goo Dolls start to sing the soothing melody of "Iris" as I slowly drift into a restful sleep—marveling at how the universe has righted itself in just one mess of an evening. _Perhaps a_ _playlist_ _is in order for my_ _favorite_ _man, just to show him what he's done for me_

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

The upside of being utterly and completely car-less is that while I'm on the bus on my way to work, I can listen to music on my iPad while it's safely tucked away in the confines of my purse. After a morning filled with music from Christian's playlist, I walk into work with a ridiculous grin plastered on my face.

Jack even glances up at me as I reach my desk and does a double take.

"Good morning, Ana. You look well . . . rested." His remark irks me, and I somehow manage hide just how inappropriate I think it was.

"Good morning. I just happened to sleep well after a rather very long day, thank you."

His forehead crinkles as he narrows his eyes, looking very pissed off.

"I see. Well, I'd like you to read first chapters on these and have reports written up for each of them by the time lunch rolls around." He hands me four manuscripts with a rather vicious scowl.

"Sure thing," I smile, feeling relief when he doesn't make another unnecessary comment and instead gives me a broad smile in return.

I settle in with my breakfast consisting of a vanilla latte and a banana as I sit waiting for the computer to warm up. If Christian went back on his word of not interfering with my work, then my one wish would be to have a new computer. Before I begin to work, I check my email and am pleasantly surprised when I find that there's an email from Christian waiting for me in my inbox.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: So Help Me . . .

Date: June 10 2011 08:05

To: Anastasia Steele

I do hope you've had breakfast on this beautiful morning.

I missed you last night.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Old books . . .

Date: June 10 2011 08:33

To: Christian Grey

I am eating a banana as I type. Please remember, I haven't had breakfast in several days, so it's a step forward. I love love love the British Library App—I started rereading Robinson Crusoe . . . and of course, I love love love you too.

Now leave me alone—I am trying to be a productive worker.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Is that all you've eaten?

Date: June 10 2011 08:36

To: Anastasia Steele

You can do better than a banana. Remember, you're going to need your energy for begging, Little One.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Pest

Date: June 10 2011 08:39

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it is you that shall be begging on your knees, kind sir.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Bring It On!

Date: June 10 2011 08:36

To: Anastasia Steele

Why, Miss Steele, I do love a challenge . . .

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I can't help but grin at the screen like an idiot when I read his reply. Glancing at th clock, I withhold a sigh and my witty reply as I decide to get to my actual pile of work. After all, the manuscripts could read and report on themselves. Plus, I didn't want to draw attention to myself anymore than I already had. My goal was to stay as far out of Jacks creepy reach as possible.

Keeping Christian out of jail would depend on it.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

When it's time for lunch, I head to the deli down the street for a vegetarian sub and begin to listen to more of the lovely playlist Christian created. The man has an eclectic taste in music. One moment it can be classic rock or pop, and the next it can be a classical piece such as Fantasia on Theme. He even goes as far as including "When I Look At You" by Miley Cyrus—a song from my favorite movie that he was forced to watch when he arrived one weekend to find me sick as a dog. _Fifty_ _not only has a sense of humor, but a heart of gold, and I love him all the more for it._

As the afternoon drags on, I decide, in the spur of the moment, to email my favorite dominant.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Bored . . .

Date: June 10 2011 16:05

To: Christian Grey

Twiddling my thumbs after a long morning.

How are you?

What are you doing?

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Your thumbs

Date: June 10 2011 16:15

To: Anastasia Steele

You should have come to work for me, Miss Steele.

Rest assured, you wouldn't be twiddling your thumbs.

I am sure I could put them to far better use.

In fact, I can think of a number of options . . . most of them involving creative use of my office furniture. A little rearranging never hurt anyone, right?

I am doing the usual humdrum that is mergers and acquisitions.

It's all very dry.

As I have just put her on hold, remember that we have dinner plans with Leila tonight.

Your emails at SIP are monitored.

Christian Grey

Distracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 _Oh, shit_ _. Wait ._. . _How the hell does he know? Unless . . . No, he promised long ago that he wouldn't interfere._ _Even if a new computer would be nice. . . No! No. Not possible._ I scowl at the screen and quickly check the emails we've sent, deleting them as I go.

Jack is at my desk as soon as the clock says that it's five thirty. In a pair of light wash jeans and a black shirt, it is abundantly clear that he's celebrating the fact that it's Casual Friday.

"You are coming for a drink, aren't you Ana? We all usually like to go for a quick one at the bar across the street."

"We?" My interest is piqued at the use of the word.

"Yeah, most of us around the office go . . . you coming?"

Relief floods through me—knowing that I don't have to be alone with him in some strange bar that is sure to be a dive is like a weight lifted off my shoulders.

"Sure, I've got a little bit of time today. What's the bar called?"

"Fifty's."

"You're kidding," I murmur, offhandedly.

He looks at me like I've grown a second head—and not for the first time today. "No, it's just across from here. Some significance for you?"

"No, just a bit of an inside joke with an old friend," I smile weakly. "I'll meet you over there."

"What would you like to drink?"

"A beer is fine, thanks."

"Alright, see you in a few."

As I make my way to the restroom, I pull out my BlackBerry and send a quick email to my favorite Fifty.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: You'll Fit Right In

Date: June 10 2011 17:36

To: Christian Grey

We are heading to a bar across the street that is aptly called Fifty's.

The vast sea of jokes that you could be subjected to tonight is a sight unforeseen.

I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.

A. x

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Hazards

Date: June 10 2011 17:38

To: Anastasia Steele

I never pictured you as a comedian Miss Steele.

Although, now that you've got me thinking . . . Nah, you'll still have to beg. ;)

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Hazards?

Date: June 10 2011 17:40

To: Christian Grey

And your point is, kind Sir?

Again, you are wrong. I'll have you begging for me just as I did the very night I gave myself to you.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Merely . . .

Date: June 10 2011 17:42

To: Anastasia Steele

Just making an observation, Miss Steele.

I'll have you begging for permission to kneel.

I'll see you shortly.

Sooners rather than laters, baby.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I can't help but smile to myself at the use of his Elliot-esque joke as I check myself out in the mirror. _The_ _difference_ _that just one_ _day_ _has_ _ma_ _d_ _e_ _is astounding_ My cheeks are slightly flushed, and my plain blue eyes have a little more light to them. It's evident that after ten days in purgatory, I am feeling the full Christian Grey effect. A little email banter with that man can completely do me in. I smirk at myself in the mirror as I straighten my pale blue blouse—the one Taylor bought me after the disastrous night out at the bar. Then, I pull my favorite dark wash skinny jeans up from where they're falling off my hips—not eating for a week will do that to a girl—and I'm reminded that a shopping trip needs to occur at some point this weekend. _After all, with my very generous inheritance I could more than afford it._ I let my hair out of its loose braid before quickly applying some lipstick and perfume before I head out.

As I step out of the building, a burly man with his hood pulled up brushes past me as he drags a screaming girl along by her arm. I'm nearly about to call out to ask if everything is alright when I hear my name being called. "Ana?"

I turn expectantly, and a bright-eyed Leila approaches me. She looks like she's just come from the spa—all shiny and new again and not sporting the massive hangover I expected her to be nursing all day long.

"Ana?" she repeats, and her features seem to brighten in the sunlight as she speaks. She's acting as if I should be expecting her, when I was really only expecting to see her at dinner—wherever that may be.

I plaster a smile on my face. "Yes? Sorry—what are you doing here?"

She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, suddenly immobilized. _Why is Leila waiting outside of SIP_ _like nothing is wrong?_

"Did you happen to see why that guy was dragging that poor girl along?" I ask.

She tilts her head to the side and gives me a calculating look that seems to ask if I'm crazy.

"I didn't see anyone," she shrugs. "Besides, it's better to not get caught up in other peoples drama."

"Right," I frown. "So, what's up? What are you doing here?" I ask. _How did she know to wait for me today of all days?_

"Well, Christian mentioned you were having a drink with your boss after work, when we were having lunch with Elena. Since we're doing dinner tonight I figured I would just tag along. You're clueless when it comes to the male species, so I thought I could see just how interested he truly is. No harm, no foul." Her voice is eerily soft as she shrugs off her seemingly kind—and out of character—gesture.

I take a moment to study her as she stands before me. Her dark, slight wavy hair starkly contrasts with her fair skin in the sunlight and her usual flat bourbon eyes, seem unusually wide and bright. It's as if she's an entirely different person today.

"Thanks, I guess," I frown and shake my head. "Sorry—it's just, I had no idea you would be here. Christian didn't mention it when we talked." I say, trying to ignore the warning tingle that moves up and down my spine. On closer inspection, she really looks odd—like she's up to something—and she hasn't looked quite so devious in years. Her clothes are even more revealing than usual. She's dressed in a short black swing dress with a plunging neckline and sky-high black suede boots.

She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my anxiety.

"What, do you not want me here?" she asks sarcastically.

My anxiety morphs into anger. "I'm sorry—I'm just a little confused is all. I thought once Christian picked me up we were meeting you for dinner."

"Well, you were. When he mentioned that you got off at five thirty, I thought I would just surprise both of you." She lifts her arm to drag her hand through her now shoulder length hair, and as she does, the long sleeve of her dress rides up, revealing what looks to be like a bandage wrapped around her wrist.

 _What the fuck?_

"Leila, what's that on your wrist?" Turning, she walks toward the street and stops. "Leila, I asked you a question." Ignoring me, her slight frame makes its way across the street towards the bar.

 _What is going on?_

Confused, I hurriedly cross the street to the bar, trying to figure out exactly what is going on, while my subconscious notes—This has something to do with that god-awful Elena Lincoln woman and whatever Leila is hiding from Christian.

I don't get a chance to have another private word with her as I walk into the bar behind Leila. Upon my first look, I see that Fifty's is just like your run of the mill bar—filled with baseball memorabilia and impersonal posters. I find Jack sitting at the bar with Elizabeth, the other editor Courtney, two guys from Finance, and Claire from Reception.

"Hi, Ana!" Jack hands me a bottle of Bud Light and I give him a tight smile in return.

"Thank you," I murmur, still shaken by Leila's sudden interest and appearance in my personal life.

"Cheers." We clink bottles, and his eyes fall onto my sister. He smiles as his eyes flick from her to me and back again. "And who's your friend?"

"This is my sister, Leila Grey."

"Oh, the sister of the brother-in-law that took you out last night." He comments, his eyebrows raised as he takes a drink of his beer.

Seeming unaffected by his attempt to disarm her, Leila smiles her tabloid smile—the one she saves for snotty reporters and Mia's snarky friends.

"Yes, we did enjoy the art show. The photographer was quite talented."

"You went along?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Well, of course. I joined by husband and we kept my sister company while supporting a mutual friend. I'm so lucky that I have such a supportive and kind husband. Christian and Ana really do have the best friendship I could have hoped for. He treats her like family."

Jack simply nods looking slightly pissed off as turns back to Elizabeth to continue their conversation.

Claire smiles sweetly at me.

"So, how has your first week been?" she asks.

"Good, thank you. Everyone has been very friendly."

"You seem much happier today."

"It's Friday," I mutter quickly, sparing a glance at Leila. "So—do you have any plans this weekend?"

My patented distraction technique works and I'm saved. Claire goes on about being one of seven kids and Leila interjects that we're both one of two. Claire laughs at her clever joke and I smile along, not feeling up to explaining that we're really only half-sisters. As she talks about going to a big family get-together in Tacoma, she becomes quite animated, and I realize I haven't spoken to any women my own age since Kate left for Barbados. I simply can't count Leila.

Absently I wonder how Kate is doing . . . and Elliot. I have to remember to ask Christian if he's heard from him. _Except for if they fought, they may not be talking. Shit._ If that's the case, I have to wonder how Elliot is getting along with Ethan being that he and Christian have warned him off of Mia multiple times _. Shit._ Ethan, is supposed to be back on Tuesday, and he'll be staying in our apartment. _I can't imagine Christian is going to be happy about that. Of course, he'll be sharing a bed with Leila the entire time_ — _someone he_ _is still_ _clearly still sleeping with_ — _so really, it's not that big of a deal that Ethan will be sleeping one room away from me._ Being that I'm the other woman, I can't really complain if he is sleeping with his wife. _Can I?_

During my conversation with Claire, Leila gets up to get herself another martini and Elizabeth hands me another beer.

"Thanks." I smile at her.

Claire is very easy to talk to—she likes to talk—and before I know it, I am on my third beer, courtesy of one of the guys from Finance. _What is it? Everyone buy Ana a drink day?_

When Elizabeth and Courtney leave, Jack joins Claire, Leila, and me. _Where is Christian?_ One of the finance guys engages Claire in conversation— _I really must learn their names_ —and Leila begins to animatedly talk to one of his friends.

"So Ana, do you think you made the right decision coming here?" Jack's voice is soft, and he's standing a bit too close. It's a habit I've noticed because he has a tendency to do this with everyone, even at the office, and I'm not entirely thrilled by it. In fact, I'm downright uncomfortable.

"I've enjoyed myself this week, thank you, Jack. Yes, I think I made the right decision by choosing SIP."

"That sounds like you had other offers. Doesn't surprise me in the least though. You're a very bright girl, Ana. You'll go far."

I involuntarily blush at his comment. "Thank you," I mutter. "Yes, I had other offers. In fact, one of them was from Christian."

"Ah, the business mogul. I have the feeling he takes care of his family very well," he flashes me a slimy grin. "Do you live far?"

Ignoring his comment I grimace. "The Pike Market district."

"Not far from me." Smirking, he moves even closer and leans against the bar, effectively trapping me in one move. "Do you have any plans this weekend?"

"Well . . . um—"

Saved—I feel him before I actually see him. It's as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence. The pull between us relaxes me and ignites my soul all at the same time—it's like an invisible thread—pulling us closer together without either of us even trying.

Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection—but deep down, I know differently. He is staking his claim, and on this occasion, it's very welcome. There's no use in denying what is abundantly clear. _I am his_. I always have been and I always will be.

Ever so softly he affectionately kisses the top of my head. "Hello, little one," he murmurs in greeting.

I feel safe as he draws me to his side. When I glance up at him while he stares at Jack, his expression remains impassive. Turning towards me, he gives me a quick crooked smile followed by a swift kiss on the cheek. I notice the ends of his hair are still damp, and I deduce that due to his attire of his favorite black leather jacket paired with a white shirt and jeans that he's just left the gym after a workout with Claude.

Jack shuffles from one foot to the other and I manage to mumble a slightly apologetic introduction.

"Jack, this is Christian." _Why am I apologizing_ _again_ _? Oh, right. Because he's a complete creep and_ _he's_ _my boss._ _With the way he's been looking at me there's no way that he won't_ _take this out on me in some way, come Monday morning._ "Christian, Jack."

"I'm the brother-in-law," Christian says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his icy eyes as he shakes Jack's hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the man in front of him with a face void of any expression.

"I'm the boss," Jack replies arrogantly. "Ana did mention something about a brother-in-law."

 _What the fuck is this man getting at? I've mentioned Christian only two or three times to him and he's acting as if he knows our dark, dirty little secrets._

"Well, I would imagine so, we get along quite well. I'm very protective of her." Christian replies calmly. "Come on, Little One, it's time to go."

"Please, stay and join us for a drink," Jack says smoothly. "Your wife was even enjoying herself."

 _Why is_ _Hyde almost insisting on making_ _this uncomfortable?_ I glance at Claire, who is, of course practically drooling into her drink as she stares at Christian. _When will I stop caring about the effect he has on other women?_ Then I take in Leila's expression, and while she is glaring at Jack, she looks almost pleased that Christian is staking a claim.

"We have plans," Christian replies with his disarming smile.

 _We do? Oh, right. Dinner._ _With Leila._

"Another time, perhaps," he adds. "Come," he says to me as he takes my hand and then quickly turns to wrap his other arm around Leila, who has without a word, joined us.

"See you Monday." I plaster a smile on my face as I wave goodbye to Jack, Claire, and the guys from Finance, trying hard to ignore the less-than-pleased expression on Jacks face as I let Christian lead me out of the door.

When we reach the Audi waiting at the curb, Christian drops his arm from Leila's waist keeps hold of my hand as he opens the door of the car for me.

"Why did that almost feel like a pissing contest?" I ask.

"Because it was," he murmurs and gives me his charming smile as Leila slides in next to me and snorts, before he then shuts the door.

"Hello, Taylor," I say and our eyes meet in the review mirror.

"Miss Steele," Taylor smiles.

Christian walks around the car and slides into the seat beside me, leaving me in the middle of him and Leila as he clasps my hand in his.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I breathe. "So, can one of you please explain what just happened? Or why you're both here?"

Leila sighs as I look at her.

"You had no idea that the guy . . . Trevor or something was going to attempt to hit on you. So, I stepped in because he looked like a total bore. Then, Jack surprised me by moving in. I just let Christian know that Jack seemed a little _too_ interested via text. That's all," Leila shrugs.

"After your last email, Leila called about dinner. I mentioned that I was going to pick you up, so she decided to meet you at the last minute. Thank fuck too, because she let me know that you looked uncomfortable when Hyde was talking to you. I watched him corner you in, Anastasia. If it wasn't for the fact that he seems to know exactly who I am, I would have told him I was your boyfriend."

I feel my cheeks flush despite knowing that Leila isn't paying the least bit of attention to us now, so I know she can't see the scorching look that Christian is giving me. If it wasn't for her presence, I'd be right on top of him in the backseat of the car.

"Are you okay with dinner at _Escala_ this evening?"

"I thought you said Leila had made dinner plans?"

"Well, yes. I'm not quite sure what she has planned. I think she plans on getting you drunk. Something about bonding time."

"I'm not going to get her drunk. She's never been drunk."

Christian snorts and Leila throws us both a curious look.

"Am I missing something?"

"Don't you remember our conversation at the Grey's during dinner?" At her blank look I sigh. "When Christian was in Portland for work, he rescued me from a drunk night out. Kate was with Elliot, when my previous friend from last night was making his move. Christian rescued me and I puked all over his billion dollar shoes. End of story."

Leila's eyebrows raise in surprise and she looks at Christian with a look of uncertainty.

"Right, I remember now. But how did Elliot end up there with you? Or Christian, for that matter."

"We were celebrating the fact that we had finished our finals. As for how Elliot got there, I'm not sure."

"I asked him to go hiking while I was there for work. We don't get to do things like that very often," he shrugs.

"Okay, I just don't understand why neither of you ever mentioned all of that to me before?"

"Well, Leila," he says easily, "Sometimes there are things I don't tell you, just as you don't tell me everything."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

"Nothing of importance that is worth discussing now."

"Great," she snarls. "A moody Christian Grey. That's exactly what I want this evening."

Ignoring her he simply turns to me and she returns to her phone.

"So how has your day been?" he asks.

"Good, I suppose. Better than my week, at least. How about yours?" I ask cautiously.

"Good, thank you."

His ridiculously broad grin reflects mine and I can't help but flush again.

"You look very lovely," he says. "The blue suits you."

"Um . . . Thank you?"

"Jack Hyde, he's your boss. Does it seem like he's good at his job?"

 _Well, t_ _hat's a sudden change in direction._

"He can be a little moody, but so far he seems to be getting his job done," I frown. "Wait, why are you asking? This isn't about your pissing contest is it?"

Christian smirks. "That man wants into your panties, Anastasia," he says dryly.

I go crimson as my mouth drops open and I nervously glance at Leila.

"Why are we even having this conversation? He can't wants all he likes. At the end of the day, you have to know I have no interest in him whatsoever. The man is just my boss."

"That's the entire point Anastasia. The creep wants what's not his and what is extremely off-limits. I need to know if he's good at his job."

I shrug. "I think so. It's not like I've been there long enough to see numbers or any sort of real progress."

"Well, he'd better leave you the fuck alone, or he'll find himself out on his ass."

"What are you talking about? He hasn't done anything wrong." _At least not yet. He still reminds me of husband number three_ — _which while I intended to tell Christian, I can't exactly tell him right now._

"If he makes one wrong move, you tell me. It's called gross moral turpitude—or sexual harassment."

"Jesus Christ, Christian it was just a few drinks after work. _With_ a group of people. With _your_ own wife! _My sister_!"

"I mean it, Ana. One move and he's out."

"You don't have that kind of power. Not unless . . ." I roll my eyes as the realization hits me with the force of a speeding freight truck. "Oh, Christian no! No! You didn't! Please, tell me you didn't!" I gasp. "Do you, Christian?"

Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.

"You're buying it," I whisper in horror.

His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice. "Not exactly," he says cautiously.

"You've bought SIP, already?"

He blinks at me, warily. "Possibly. Maybe."

"You have or you haven't?"

"Have."

 _What the_ _fuck?!_

"Why?" I gasp, appalled. "You promised me that you wouldn't interfere with my job!"

"Because I can, Anastasia. I need to keep you safe."

"But you said you wouldn't interfere with my career!"

"And I won't."

"I asked him to do it," Leila whispers, catching me off guard.

I turn and look at her in horror as I snatch my hand out of his. "You what?!"

"I could see how worried he was when you first mentioned your boss. Then, on top of that, he mentioned how dangerous it could be if anyone realized who you were . . . Ana, you're not just Ana Steele, anymore. I'm married to Christian Grey and after that picture in the paper . . . you're pictured with us often enough that it's possible someone could attempt to hurt you. We just want you safe, so I gave him the go-ahead. Not that he needed it," she mumbles.

"Are you mad at me?" Christian asks quickly.

"Yes. Of course, I'm mad at you. I'm mad at _both_ of you!" I seethe. "But you—I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he's—" _he's currently fucking_ "—he's related to by marriage?" I blanch at my almost-said-words and glance nervously once more at Leila, who is now stoically ignoring us.

 _Shit. What a time to_ _almost_ _have a brain-to-mouth filter malfunction._

Christian opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again and openly scowls at me. As the atmosphere in the car plunges from warm to frigid, I glare at him. Our reunion had almost been sweet even with Leila's presence, but now it's frozen with animosity as we glower at one another.

Our uncomfortable journey fortunately doesn't last long as Taylor pulls up outside _Escala_.

Not bothering to wait for anyone to open the door, I scramble for the handle and manage to climb out over Leila as she squeals in protest.

I faintly hear Christian mutter to Leila, "Give me a minute to calm her down," as I make my way out.

As we wait for the elevator to arrive, I sense him standing close behind me. He stays near until we step on and he pushes the button to close the doors before entering the code for the penthouse.

Christian turns toward me and as I study him out of the corner of my eye he looks at me as if I'm some wild animal that he's cornered in.

"Anastasia."

I sigh, choosing to face him even though my anger is bubbling on the surface—a dark force lurking around the corner, threatening to choke me.

"I have two things to say and I would appreciate it, if you didn't interrupt me. Understood?" At my silent nod, he continues. "One, I haven't fucked you in a long while—I know we've gone much longer without being with one another before, but this sucks because of how much you mean to me.

"Two, I wanted to get into publishing. It's very beneficial to my company. Out of the four companies in Seattle, SIP was the best choice to make. It's on the cusp of going stagnate. Which means in a few years time it might not even exist if I don't step in. Then you would be out of a job. SIP needs to branch out. I'm doing this not only to protect the girl I'm clearly crazy about, but to protect the hundreds of people who work for SIP and rely on their job at SIP for their income."

My heart softens a little at his reasoning, but I continue to at least try to stare frigidly at him. Yet, I find myself nearly getting lost in the intense steel depths of his gray eyes.

I can't lose myself in him again. It's toxic. I shake my head and place my hands on my hips.

"So you're my boss now," I snap.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss."

"And, technically Mr. Grey, it's gross moral turpitude—the fact that I am _fucking_ my boss's boss's boss."

"At the moment, you're just arguing with him." Christian snarls.

"That's because he's such a pompous ass," I hiss.

Christian's face morphs into one of stunned surprise.

S _hit. Have I gone too far?_

His expressions morphs into one of amusement as he rubs his chin. "A pompous ass?" he murmurs.

 _Goddam_ _mit Grey!_ _I_ _'m supposed to be mad at you! You cannot_ _make me laugh_ _right now_

"Yes," I say stiffly as I struggle to maintain my look of complete outrage.

Christian shoves his hands into his pockets and repeats my words yet again, with a twitch to his lips. "A _pompous_ ass?"

"Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to be mad at you!" I scowl.

Then of course, he smiles. His smile is one of those all-American-boy smiles that make girls scream and I can't help but to grin back at him and to make one of those horrible snort-laughs that he seems to enjoy so much.

"Watch it, Grey. Just because I have a damn grin on my face doesn't mean I'm still not mad as hell at you," I gasp breathlessly in an attempt to suppress my shrill giggling that reminds me of the cheerleaders in high school. _Though I was never_ _a_ _cheerleader_ _thanks to social rankings out of my control_ —the bitter thought crosses my mind. _Leila, however, was._ _She had everything. She still does._

Wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him, he leans in and at first I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. Instead, he brushes his nose against mine before he stands straight and nuzzles my hair, kissing the top of my head.

"You surprise me at every turn, Little One. You're so bright, I just never know what to expect from you." He leans pack and takes one hand, stroking my cheek with the tips of his fingers before cupping my chin. "So, is my Little One going to behave during dinner, or are you going to continue to punish me? I do have to say that as an American citizen, I was only exercising my democratic right to purchase SIP because I am an entrepreneur and because it damn well pleased me to do so."

"You might want to speak to Flynn about your need to buy as you please. You can't buy everything I step foot into."

He snorts. "Flynn knows that I'm a controlling jackass. So, are you going to behave Anastasia? Or am I going to have to take you over my knee once you're done begging?"

"Oh, please," I scoff as the elevators door open and we step into the foyer. "Did you forget? You'll be the one begging at the end of the night, Grey. I'm going to make this dinner utter and complete hell for you."

Christian turns and pulls me into his arms, watching me intently as I bite my lip to keep my smile at bay. One simple look from the man had my panties drenched and useless.

"That sounds like a challenge, Miss Steele. A challenge that I am all too willing to accept."

Knowing that Christian is the expert at teasing and I've almost already lost, I pout. "Let's just get trough this dinner."

Christian throws his head back laughing and places a kiss on my forehead before he takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen without a second thought.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Want updates, teasers, and more? Join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates. Link is in profile.**

 **Recommended FanFiction: Crossroads by KatyJane75**

 **Thank you for reading and your continued support.**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sara Jo**


	14. Chapter 12

**Reviews from Chapter 11:**

 **cheshire115:** I think Christian is a little of all of those things. However, my version of Christian is slowly going to learn from his mistakes.

 **daytonalay** : Everyone is always worried about Leila being asleep or not so let me make it clear: Our Leila loves her wine and sleeping pills. Imagine her as Meredith from The Parent Trap sleeping on the mattress in the middle of the lake. Girl is gone. Lol. Now, Leila's wrist surely is a mystery and will remain so until the next chapter. As for her Dom? All I can say is that it's not Jack Hyde. His creepy importance comes in the second book. Although we'll certainly see a surprise or two from him in this book too. ;) Thank you for your continuous support!

 **emou.albarout:** you could most definitely be almost 100% right. Insight on Carla will come, but not for a while . . . Hang on tight!

 **motherbeatrice** : I really didn't want to spoil this fact until later on, but I did above and I'll say it again because it's quite funny. Our girl Leila likes her wine and sleeping pills a lot more than she ever liked Christian!

 **Ehundl** : I hope this update was earlier for you! I'm posting around 7:30 my time (Indiana, USA). Leila isn't playing dumb, if she finds out what's going on . . . let's just say it will be a big surprise. Dinner is sure to be interesting . . .

 **velosewer** : Leila definitely shouldn't be underestimated. My Leila is even sneakier than the original but there won't be too many surprises during dinner . . .

 **sam251** : what can I say? If you don't like my Ana, don't read. It's that simple.

I included more than 5 review replies this time around simply because it's been so long. Thank you all for the well wishes and for those of you who have waited patiently! Enjoy!!

 **Song:** _Bad_ by Lennon Stella

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

It's odd standing around Christian and Leila's apartment, with just the three of us. Usually, Gail is around. But tonight it is Leila who stands at the fridge, pulling out ingredients as Christian pulls out a bottle of wine and three glasses.

"Oh, we'll need another."

Christian pauses and looks at Leila oddly.

"Why?" he asks icily.

"I invited a friend over for dinner."

Christian grits his jaw and stares at her impassively as she begins to lay her ingredients on the counter.

"Who? Who on fucking earth could you have possibly invited here for dinner?"

Leila blinks at him.

"He's a friend and I think he'll get along well with not only you but with Ana."

Christians voice is clipped. "What?"

"What?" I echo."Why would you do that?"

"I don't know why you're so upset, Christian," Leila shrugs. "Ana isn't some teenager like she was when you met her. Evidently, she's been dating people and I think this will get her mind off of the professor."

"What professor?" he scowls.

"The portraits . . ." she says bewilderedly as she stares at him. before she looks at me. "About that, I was talking to the head of that studio. There were more portraits included in Josè's work. I went ahead and had him charge us for the ones that weren't hung. I guess they get pretty . . . risqué."

I blanch. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know that I told you all those years ago, how Christian and I met." She looks at Christian who is still scowling like a petulant teenager. "Before you yell at me, I was drunk, plus she's my sister and would never tell a soul about out personal business. Anyway," she continues. "When I asked just how risqué the photos get, I was told that there are certain photos that are . . . revealing."

"How revealing?" Christian growls.

Leila looks at me as if asking for permission and I nod.

"Full frontal, blindfolded, hands bound. That sort of thing," she shrugs.

As I feel my skin heat, I cradle my head in my hands and Christian comes around the bar and wraps an arm around me in comfort.

"Ana, it's nothing to be embarrassed about," Leila says gently. "It's all perfectly normal. I'm sure Christian even has a few photos of me laying around somewhere. I could show them to you if it will make you feel better and—"

"No," Christian says sternly, making me stiffen. With a gentle touch, he lowers my hands from my face and pulls me into his chest. "The photographer took photos of Ana without her permission. She's angry, Leila. Not embarrassed. Angry. And she has every right to be. The photos I took of you—before we were married, may I add—were for insurance purposes because at the time you were just my Submissive."

"And I'm not now?" she asks dryly.

"No," he says simply. "You're not. We married Leila, and when we married you decided to leave that part of our relationship in the past."

"Seeing the photos still might make her feel better," she says, rolling her eyes as she turns away.

"Or they could make her highly uncomfortable," he scowls at her before he looks down at me with a gentle but reassuring smile, "I myself will call the gallery in the morning," Christian promises. "I'll confirm that we own all copies including any negatives. Then I'll request to have the portraits delivered here and I'll put them in storage myself to ensure that none of the staff decide to take a look at them. You can decide what to do about them whenever you're ready, Anastasia."

"Thank you," I murmur.

"Why don't you talk to Ana more about the purchase of SIP while I begin to get dinner ready?" Leila suggests as she looks over her shoulder.

"That's an excellent idea. We can talk about what I see for the future of the company. Come, Anastasia," Christian says while rolling his eyes at her. "Let's go sit in the library."

"There's a tray of appetizers in the refrigerator if either of you are hungry."

"I can wait," I say easily, picking up my glass of wine and taking Christian's offered hand.

Once we've reached the library Christian looks at me curiously.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like something to eat?" he asks.

"The only thing that sounds appetizing at the moment is unfortunately not up for grabs," I quip.

Christian gazes at me intensely and I feel every single muscle in my body clench in sweet anticipation of his answer. The mans voice alone was enough to do me in, add in the starving look of lust and I was a goner.

"Have you eaten today?" he asks as she steps right in front of me.

Not even a touch, but still he stands before me radiating heat off of his hard body. He continues to stare down at me, his slate gray eyes burning into mine as desire courses through my veins and I turn into a puddle at his feet.

"I had part of a sandwich at lunch," I whisper. _I don't want to talk food._

He narrows his eyes. "Just part? You need to eat, Anastasia."

"I wasn't really hungry. I was too keyed up in anticipation for you. I'm still not really hungry right now. At least . . . not

for food."

"Why, just what are you hungry for, Miss Steele?" he flirts.

"I think you know, Mr. Grey," I taunt back at him.

He leans down, his lips hovering over my own, and for a brief moment, I think he's going to kiss me, but all too soon, he pulls back.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?" he whispers softly, his minty breath fanning over my face.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Where?"

"You're not playing fair."

"Perhaps not. However, I need you to be specific so I know just what it is you want. I told you before, I'm not going to touch you until you're begging me and telling me what you want. In fine detail."

"Please," I whisper. "You're the one that's supposed to beg."

"I don't beg, baby. I'm your Dom, remember?"

"Then touch me," I whisper hoarsely.

"Where should I touch you, baby?"

His scent is so intoxicating as he drifts closer that I hungrily reach up, only for him to take a cautious step back.

"No, no," he chides, his eyes suddenly wide and alarmed.

"No?"

"No." He confirms with a shake of his head.

"Not at all?" I ask longingly, and I can't keep the sadness out of my voice.

He looks at me uncertainly, and I'm emboldened by his hesitation. I take a cautious step towards him, and he takes a full step back, holding his hands up as a defense mechanism.

"Look, Ana," he seems completely exasperated as he runs a hand through his hair. "It's not so simple."

"Sometimes you don't mind. Sometimes it seems like you're encouraging me when you pull me into your arms. I just don't understand."

"You don't need too."

"But, I do. Perhaps I should find a marker so we can map out the no-go areas."

He raises an eyebrow at me thoughtfully. "That's actually not a bad idea."

I nod in anticipation and he sighs reluctantly before quickly changing the subject.

"Are you still on your birth control? Or did you have it changed?"

 _Oh shit._

"No," I squeak. "I had my IUD taken out and planned on replacing it at my next appointment."

"I see," he says, and his lips press into a thin line of disapproval. "I've changed my mind. Come, let's have the appetizer to eat."

"First, I thought we were going to talk. Then, I thought we were going to play. I've missed you, Christian."

"I know, baby." He smiles, and then he swiftly grabs my wrist and pulls me into his arms so that his body is pressed against mine.

"You need to eat and so do I," he murmurs, gazing down at me with burning eyes the color of ash. "Besides . . . anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I'm really into delayed gratification."

"Then consider me seduced. I want my gratification now, Christian. I'll even beg," I pout.

He smiles at me tenderly as he runs a finger down my cheek. "After we eat. You're far too slender." He kisses my forehead and releases me.

The man has chosen to play a game I'm all too determined to win.

"I thought we came in here to talk? I'm still mad that you bought SIP, and now I'm mad at you because you're making me wait." I pout.

"You are one angry little madam, aren't you? You'll feel better after a good meal."

With my hands clasped behind my back in surrender, I take a step towards him, rubbing my body up against his.

"I know what I'll feel better after."

"Anastasia Steele, I am simple shocked at your behavior." He gently mocks me as he tickles my sides, making me giggle at his antics.

"Stop!" I squeal. "Stop teasing me! You don't fight fair."

He stifles his grin by biting his lower lip and it makes him look simply . . . adorable. The successful CEO is in playful Christian mode—toying with my libido on a whim. _If only he would let me seduce him like_ _he did_ _the first time._ Of course, not being able to touch him does hamper my skills just a tad.

As Christian and I continue to gaze at each other—me, yearning and him both relaxed

and amused at my expense—I realize I have a date that I know nothing about.

"Leila set me up on a date."

"She did."

"You're going to be here."

"I am." His expression hardens.

I shake my head in exasperation. _Shit, he's pissed_ _and it's not even my fault!_

"It's not exactly my idea of a fun evening," he says sternly as he turns on his heel and walks over to the bookshelf. "Then again, Leila wants to spend the evening 'catching up' as she put it. So, I believe this leaves you with the perfect opportunity to stay the night. Perhaps we could spend my morning run in the gym shower, instead."

I swallow audibly at his suggestion and catch his slight smirk.

"Aren't you at all curious as to why Leila is playing Susie Homemaker? It's quite sudden."

"Yes, but at the moment I'm more curious as to why you haven't been eating."

"I wasn't hungry. When I worry, I don't eat. As a side note, you probably shouldn't look in my fridge if you stop by."

"Why?" he glares, then his eyes widen to the size of saucers. "Do you not have food in the apartment?"

"Maybe."

At my admission, he shakes his head.

"Why don't you have any food in the apartment?"

"You know why."

Gritting his teeth, he clenches his fist.

"It was you who left so easily," he mutters disapprovingly. "You could have fought."

"You called me a whore, Christian. You threw a check in my face and thanked me for servicing you for three years."

Christian winces at my words and scratches the back of his head.

 _If I hadn't left, would he have offered the vanilla alternative?_ I wonder idly. _Perhaps_ _my choice of_ _not fighting_ _and leaving with Elliot_ _, was his wakeup call. Or perhaps . . ._

"Have you talked to Elliot at all?" I find myself asking.

Christian gives me an odd look and shakes his head.

"About . . . maybe an hour after he left with you, he came back. We ended up having a pretty heated argument. One where I may or may not have accused him of sleeping with you. And giving you-"

"Chlamydia? The chlamydia I ended up not having? You did receive my email, right?"

"I did. And yes, I blamed him for that."

"I finished the medication because it was recommended. I still need to make an appointment with Dr. Greene, unfortunately."

"Anastasia—"

"Elliot told you. He told you the same exact day it all happened and yet you let me sit there and think you hated me for something I didn't do. You lied to me, Christian."

"Except I didn't," he says softly. "I really didn't have sex with her. I don't know how I caught it from her. But I swear to you, I haven't physically slept with Leila in that way in a very long time."

There's a sharp tap on the door and we both freeze as it opens, only to reveal Taylor.

Letting out an audible sigh, Christian looks at him.

"What is it, Taylor?"

"Mrs. Grey wished for me to inform you that your dinner guest is here."

"Thank you, Taylor," he says tersely as he turns to me. "Oh, joy. I get to spend the remainder of my evening watching some man ogle you."

I brush up against him as I bat my eyelashes at him with a salacious grin.

"Yes, you do. However, I've spent three years of my life watching you leave my bed only to go home to your wife. But, just remember: tonight you get to fuck me while she sleeps."

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

"I've brought a bottle of white wine, I hope that's okay with everyone?"

Geoffrey Porter is a tall, dark haired man with an athletic build and brooding blue eyes. He is also, apparently, someone Christian knows and does not like, judging by his initial reaction.

Of course, that could simply be because of my own reaction or the fact that we found him greeting Leila with an overly friendly kiss on the cheek. I'm guessing it's the latter, unfortunately.

With a charming smile, he hands the bottle off to Leila and she gives me a pointed look.

"Ana, why don't you help me get the wine?"

 _As if I have a choice._

With one brief glance back at Christian, I dutifully follow her into the kitchen.

"So, what do you think?" she asks as she carefully opens the bottle of wine with the corkscrew Christian has left out.

"He's . . . handsome. It's not as if I know him, Leila."

"That's the point of dinner, Ana. Now that you've graduated we need to find you someone suitable. You should flirt with him a bit. See what you have in common."

"Right," I answer passively.

"Please, take this seriously. He's a wealthy man and business owner who has a lot of women who are interested in him. This is a once in a life time opportunity for you, Ana. Now, you take the bottle of wine out and I'll bring dinner out in just a moment."

I manage to refrain from rolling my eyes at her as I pick up the wine glasses and the bottle to carry out into the dining room.

With a charming smile I set the glasses on the table, but before I can begin to pour, Christian takes the bottle and gracefully fills all four glasses.

"So what is it you do, Anastasia?" Geoff asks kindly as I hand him his glass.

"It's Ana," I say, correcting him before I continue, " I just graduated from WSU with a degree in English Literature."

"Ah, a hopeless romantic?"

"Hardly," I say, raising an eyebrow at him. "I may prefer some of those stories but that doesn't mean that's where my heart lies. Anyway, I just started at Seattle Independent Press."

"Ah, you must know Jack then?" he asks.

"Um . . . yes. He's my new boss. How do you know Mr. Hyde?" I ask curiously as Christian studies him with an impassive stare.

"It's a bit of a long story, truth be told."

"Why don't you all have a seat, dinner is almost ready but we can start with the salad," Leila says with ease.

We find our places at the dining table that is set for four with Christian at the head, me to his right, Leila to his left, and Geoff to her side.

We sit in a comfortable silence as we fill our salad plates and Leila says, "The main course should be ready by the time we're done with our salad. So, what were you talking about?"

"I had just asked Ana about work," Geoff says, glancing down at Leila who shifts in her seat.

"Leila and I had the . . . pleasure of meeting Hyde today," Christian says smoothly. "He seems friendly with his staff."

"A practice that I've warned him of, I can assure you," Geoff says. "I always say not to mix business and pleasure. It's far too messy."

"Ironic coming from you," Christian replies.

Geoff smirks slightly, and I can feel the tension rise in the room.

"Leila mentioned you were in business. What is it that you do, exactly?" I ask curiously.

"Mergers and Acquisitions just as Grey here. Although, I do own a small chain of clubs, _Monsieur_ , _Regnant_ , and _Maîtriser_. Perhaps you've heard of them?" he asks, gauging my reaction.

I nearly choke on my wine and spare a glance at Leila who looks pleased with herself and then at Christian who looks as if he wants to murder Geoffrey Porter.

"Can't say that I have," I mutter as I recover.

Of course, I could say that I did, in fact, know of them. Christian and I had attended a few of the masquerade parties at the one in Portland. It just so happened to be the _Sir_ or the _Monsieur_ of _Monsieur_ , _Regnant_ ,and _Maîtriser._

That doesn't surprise me in the least," he smiles. "Admittedly, they're exclusive clubs and cost a pretty penny."

"I'm sure," I mutter dryly. "I suppose they would have to be, seeing as they seem to cater to a certain clientele."

Geoff's eyes widen in surprise at my remark and he glances at Christian.

"She knows?"

Christian nods stiffly and Leila decides it's the perfect moment to get dinner out and onto the table. Acting as a gentleman, Geoff offers his assistance and they both make their escape.

Looking directly at me, Christian quietly speaks.

"Geoff and I met years ago through a mutual friend, Mrs. Lincoln. Although, I'm now curious as to exactly how he knows my wife."

"Why did she invite him here if she knows he's . . . like you?"

"To rattle you, I suppose," he mutters. "Of course, it's only pissing me off."

"He seems nice enough. Except, I think she's doing it to rattle both of us."

"Very possible. Porter owns three BDSM clubs, Anastasia. They aren't tame little parties. It goes much deeper than what you saw that night," he hisses. "There's more than one level and I would never dare to take you past the first."

"What if I wanted you to?" I ask breathlessly.

Christian gasps as he becomes rigid in his seat.

"Don't say things like that when I can't touch you, Little One."

"Dinner is served," Leila says cheerfully as she walks in with a large casserole dish with Geoff, following behind her holding a tray full of breadsticks. Once the food is on the table, I notice Leila's heavy blush as Geoff pulls out her chair, and suddenly, I'm _truly_ curious about him.

"So, how exactly did the two of you meet?" I ask once Christian has kindly filled my plate with far too much food.

Leila's eyes meet mine over her wine glass as she takes a drink, and then she smiles charmingly.

"Well, I was out to lunch and a friend introduced us. Geoff happened to be looking for some art and I told him about my art show in New York at that school."

"The one you had before your wedding?" I ask curiously.

"Yes," she frowns and Geoff smiles at her.

"We've kept in touch since. I have quite a bit of her work in each of my clubs, my office, and at home. I was hoping for some portrait work next—to go inside my clubs," he says carefully. "I'm actually searching for a model."

Leila's eyes light up as Christian refills my wine.

"Oh! Ana, you should do it! Those portraits were awfully beautiful and no one would have to know it was you."

My jaw drops and I can practically see the anger radiating off of Christian as he glares at his wife.

"No."

I look up at him and scowl.

"It's my body."

He turns his gaze on me and grits his teeth together. In his eyes, I can see exactly what he's thinking.

 _No, Little One. It's mine._

"That shitty little photographer friend of yours did that without your consent. These pictures would be in multiple clubs across multiple cities, Anastasia."

"It's just an idea," Leila says rolling her eyes.

"And I said, no," Christian snaps, glaring at her.

Keeping her eyes on his, Leila raises her nose in defiance.

"I was actually considering posing for the photos myself."

Christian blanches, seemingly speechless and it's then, that I notice out of the corner of my eye, Geoff watching for my reaction . . . and for Christian's.

"Why can't you find a submissive or even a dominant and submissive from within the community?" I ask, keeping my gaze on his. "I'm sure you could find _someone_ , being that you own three clubs."

"She's right," Christian says simply. "Or perhaps your own, submissive, Porter."

"I'm currently free of a contract. Besides, I've always looked for relationships that weren't strictly BDSM. Unlike you, Grey. Of course, that is until you met Leila."

Leila shifts in her seat uncomfortably and Christian takes a sip of his wine before he eyes, Geoff.

"Yes, it seems Leila was the exception."

"Perhaps, I'll ask Susannah. After all, she was the one that introduced us. Do you think she would be interested?"

"I could ask her. I'll call her tomorrow," she smiles.

"Susannah? As in Susannah Stevens?"

Leila almost looks smug as she looks at him.

"Susi was a friend I made when I met Elena. Ana's met her."

"I have?" I ask.

"Why did Elena introduce you to Susannah?"

Leila rolls her eyes as she turns back to her plate.

"It was when I started seeing you. Elena said that Susi was . . . well, you know," Leila shrugs. "Its not as if she was ever your official Submissive. You only shared scenes with her at the clubs."

"No, she wasn't my sub. However, if Elena hadn't done her best to ensure that I was devoted to you, Miss Stevens was next on the long list of candidates."

"Excuse me as I vomit," I say, shoving my half-eaten plate away.

Christian grits his teeth and shakes his head as Leila stands from the table.

"I'll get everything cleared and then we can do dessert."

"I'll help you," Geoff offers, throwing a smile my way.

I watch as they take the plates and then I look at Christian.

"Okay, so Susi subbed for you?"

"We did a few scenes for demonstration before I met Leila. However—unbeknownst to Leila—Elena was bringing Submissives to meet me up until last fall."

"What?" I snarl.

Christian looks amused at my possessiveness and grins at me.

"I never touched them, Little One. Not once. Cheating was never part of my routine. You are the exception to it all."

"Why did she stop?"

"I told her I had the perfect Submissive," he says affectionately. "It's not my fault she thought I meant my wife."

I flush under Christian's heated stare and shift in my seat.

"Can we go sit in the living room?"

"Yes, that's a good idea. Why don't you grab the bottle I opened earlier from the kitchen and I'll turn on the fireplace. Also, you're not to sit anywhere near that man, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," I murmur.

His eyes blaze like a storm as he stands from his seat and quietly orders me to stand. Catching my chin in his grip, he gazes at me adoringly before he fails at his attempt to hide a small charismatic smile, causing me to giggle.

"Run along, Little One."

"You called me that," I say thoughtfully. "Last night. In front of her."

"Yes, she asked about that," he shrugs. "I said it was just a term of affection because I have known you for so long, and you are indeed the Little One. Now, fetch the wine as I said."

Grinning, I head for the kitchen, but nothing can prepare me for what I see as I round the corner.

Against the counter on the far side of the kitchen, Geoff stands with Leila bent over in front of him. One hand rests on her thigh as he grips her hair in the other.

"What did I say about teasing me if front of Grey?"

"Not to or you would punish me, Master."

"That's correct, Slave. Now, did you take your medicine like you were told to do?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good, girl."

"Now, are you going to convince your little sister to go on a date with me to make things easier? Just imagine all of the family dinners. Me fucking you, when they're both in the other room. Does that turn you on you fucking whore?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good, girl. Stand."

Leila stands up straight and turns around in his arms before he lifts her up and sets her on the counter. Stepping between her thighs he keeps a hold of her hair as he claims her mouth.

Seizing an opportunity, I grab the bottle of wine from the end of the counter and hastily make my escape.

As I enter the living room, Christian easily takes me into his arms and grips the bottle of wine in one hand as my stomach twists and turns nervously.

 _How was I going to tell him what I just witnessed without causing him to blow up?_

"Did I mention how incredible you look, today?" he murmurs.

"I'm in a blouse and jeans," I scoff.

"Yes, and I'm hoping you're wearing the blue set I bought for you underneath."

 _How do you tell the man you're sleeping with that his wife is cheating on him?_

"Christian—"

"How did I not notice that you grabbed the wine, darling?" Leila asks, straightening her dress as she makes her way over to us from the kitchen, with Geoff on her tail.

"Anastasia grabbed it while I got our glasses," Christian says while not evening bothering to look at her as he fills all four glasses.

Leila's gaze turns to me hesitantly and I give her a tight smile before turning to Christian and taking the offered wine.

 _I had to wait. It was my only option at this point. If I said a word, I would only be made out as a liar._

"Thank you," I murmur as I peek up at him beneath my lashes.

His intake of breath is sharp, but he quickly covers it with a cough before clearing his throat.

"So, how is the world of mergers and acquisitions going for you outside of the clubs?" Christian asks, looking at Geoff as he sits down.

"Pretty well, if I do say so myself. I'm securing a deal that will ease the burden of shipment out of China."

"I just purchased a factory out there myself this past quarter. I'm due to travel out there sometime this fall. I wish I could get Ros to do it, but the sad fact is, they're not very open to women."

"Isn't that a little sexist?" I ask.

Christian gestures for me to sit beside him on the couch and lets out a troubling sigh.

"It is, but it's difficult to get them to agree to our terms when it's just Ros handling things. Some of the men feel as if I should have final say, being the CEO. Technically they're not one-hundred percent wrong, but they're not right either. I trust Ros. That's the reason why I made her COO. I can send her to our own factory, but if I want to secure any deals with them, it's easier to do it face to face myself."

"That's horrible."

"That's the way things should be. Not all women are capable of making those types of decisions. Frankly, I'm surprised Grey can give up that kind of control to some woman. Although, having met Ros myself, I can see why. She's not exactly like the rest, is she?"

I grow increasingly uncomfortable as Christian glares at Geoff.

"I think you need to learn where to draw the line when it comes to business and pleasure. Women have every right to do the jobs men are given on a daily basis. If that wasn't the case, Anastasia wouldn't be working in a field she loves and she wouldn't have graduated as one of the top students in her class. Her best friend wouldn't have been given the title of Valedictorian if the world saw things your way. Women have rights and deserve to be treated as equals."

Setting my wine down, I make a slight show of rubbing my temples and Leila gazes at me with concern just as Christian places a casual hand on my thigh.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I'm getting a migraine."

Christian's eyes widen at my words and Leila sighs.

"When was the last time you had one?"

"Around finals," I murmur. "But when I get them, they knock me off my feet."

Geoff seems to sense what I'm getting at and stands.

"Then we'll cut this evening short. Besides, I'll be seeing you all at the Coping Together Gala tomorrow evening, correct?"

"Oh, I won't be going."

"Yes, you will," Christian says easily. "Mother insists now that you're in Seattle."

"I don't have a dress."

"It's been taken care of," he smirks. "As long as you get a night of rest you should be well enough to attend tomorrow."

"Well, then. It's settled. I'll see all of you tomorrow," Geoff smiles as his eyes land on me.

A sinking feeling swarms my gut and I watch in silence as Leila offers to show Geoff out and he kindly accepts, bidding us adieu.

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

It's nearing one in the morning when I hear the sound of the piano from below. Sitting up in bed, I run my hands through my hair before making the hasty decision.

I make my way downstairs to find Christian hunched over his piano, playing the same notes of Beethoven over and over again.

"Christian?"

"Anastasia, it's late. Why don't you sit down and have a snack? You didn't eat very much at dinner," he murmurs.

Feeling brave, I shake my head. "You'll have to beg me first."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Perhaps."

Ever so carefully, he closes the lid of the piano before he stands and slowly saunters over to me, his eyes dark and heavy. Reaching behind me, he switches off the lamp and it's as if the world around us has gone silent.

"I think, that perhaps we can have a snack later."

"Thats not a sentence I ever expected to hear from _The_ Christian Grey," I swallow nervously as I lick my lips in anticipation. "Does this mean you're going to beg?" I whisper, bravely gazing into the molten gray of his eyes.

"No, Anastasia. There will be no begging." His voice is soft, seductive, as he steps as close as he can get without touching me.

The atmosphere is charged with electricity crackling between us as he stares down at me and I, up to him. As I bite my lip, I watch as he silently swallows and my blood ignites with a vengeance, desire pooling between my legs. Just looking at him looking at me, sends me into a tailspin.

"How is it, that just looking at you completes me?"

Before I can even respond, he grabs me by my hips and pulls me flush up against his body. Instantaneously, I reach for his hair and his mouth claims mine. With the brunt of his weight, he pushes me back, pinning me up against the wall. As his tongue melds with mine, coaxing me into caving into his bodies commands, I vaguely hear the table next to us holding his wedding photos protest. The kiss between us ignites with passion as his hand moves into my hair, tugging my head back to gain access to my neck.

"What do you want, Anastasia?" he breathes.

"You," I gasp. "All I've ever wanted is you."

"Where?" he rasps.

"Bed. I want you in bed. Please, Christian."

Without letting go of me once, he scoops me into his arms, letting me wrap my arms and legs around him freely. With efficient ease he carries me through the apartment and up the stairs before setting me on my feet at the end of the bed. Leaning down, he switches on my bedside lamp before he quickly glances around the room and makes his way to hastily close the pale gray curtains.

Turning he stares at me with a look of utter wonder.

"Now what?" he asks softly.

"I want you to make love to me, Christian."

"How?"

 _What?_

"You have got to tell me, baby. Tell me what it is you want."

"You're not playing fair."

"Anastasia, I won't ask again."

"I want you to undress me and make love to me," I plead. "Please, Christian."

He smirks as he hooks his index finger into the shirt I've stolen from him for the night, pulling me toward him.

"You're such a good girl," he murmurs, and without breaking his scorching gaze, he begins to slowly unbutton my shirt.

Needing to steady myself under his heated stare, I tentatively put my hands on his arms and to my complete and utter surprise, he doesn't protest.

 _H_ _is_ _arms are a safe area._

When he undoes the last of the buttons, he pushes my shirt off my shoulders, and I manage to briefly let go of him to let the shirt gracefully fall to the floor.

His eyes are nearly black as he parts his lips in an exasperated growl.

"Tell me what you want, Anastasia."

"I want your lips on my skin," I murmur as I trail my finger along the length of my slender throat, from right below my ear to my collar bone.

With skilled grace, he smoothes my hair back, out of the line of fire before he bends. His lips feel like the scorching sun as he begins to leave the sweetest of soft kisses right along the path my finger trailed and then back again like an echo.

"And now, my dear sweet girl?"

My words come out as a soft murmur. "I want you to take off my panties Christian."

I feel him smile against my neck before he places one firm kiss at the base of my throat, then he proceeds to fall to his knees in front of me. I watch in awe as he hooks his thumbs into the material and gives me a devilish grin.

"I could tear these off. It's much faster."

"I believe I told you to take them off, not tear them."

"Your wish is my command, madam."

Ever so gently, he begins to pull the scrap of blue silk down my legs. With newfound grace, I step out of them before he tosses them aside, leaving me in just my bra.

He stills, looking up at me expectantly. "What would my sweet girl like now?"

"I want your lips on me."

He hums, "Where?"

I teasingly trail my finger along my pelvic bone.

"You know very well where, Mr. Grey."

"Where?"

"I could just show you," I murmur breathlessly.

Feeling liberated, I part my legs and trail my fingers down to the apex of my thighs. With a single finger, I gently begin to part my lips, watching as his eyes darken into a deep storm. I close my eyes, tilting my head back as I feel the evidence of my desire begin to coat my skin.

"Stop." his voice comes out as a growl and I can't help the whimper that escapes my mouth. "Your pleasure belongs to me, Anastasia."

With skilled ease he takes my hand in his and sucks my finger into his mouth, cleaning it off before releasing it and drawing my core to his mouth.

He kisses me then, unleashing his expert tongue in the most devilish of ways. I groan and thread my fingers through his hair, holding on as he uses his tongue to circle my clit over and over again. Nothing deters him, even as I begin to pull on his copper locks. When I dig my nails into his scalp he uses his teeth to nip at my swollen bud, causing me to cry out in protest. Then, he buckles down, relentlessly using his tongue to drive me closer to the edge.

"Christian," I gasp. "Please." It comes out as a plea. I don't want to come standing up after eleven days. _I simply don't have the strength._

"Please what, Anastasia?"

"Don't torture me. Make love to me like you've promised."

He pulls back just slightly, looking up at me. "I am," he murmurs before gently blowing against my dripping core.

"No, that's not what I want, " I growl out stubbornly. "I want you inside of me."

"I am inside of you."

He teasingly dips the tip of his tongue between my lips before circling my clit.

"That's not what I mean and you know it. I want your cock inside of me."

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

Yet he still doesn't stop his sweet, exquisite torture. Instead, he doubles down, burying his nose between my lips and spreading me open with his tongue, tasting me as if he's starving and it's his last evening on earth.

"Christian . . . please, " I plea. "I need your cock inside of my pussy.

It's then that he stands and gazes down at me granting me the opportunity to see that his perfectly sculpted lips are glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

 _Fuck . . ._

"Well?" he asks.

"Well, what?" I breathe, staring up at him in frantic need, desperate to feel him inside of me.

"I'm still dressed, Miss Steele."

I gape at him in both confusion and frustration.

"Christian Trevelyan- _Fucking_ -Grey!" I scold him, but he only continues to grin mischievously.

"While I do know how to fuck quite well, I don't believe it's part of my name."

 _He wants me to un_ _dress him?_ He's never let me go so far before without precise rules. _There has to be a catch . . . Yet I so desperately_ _want this more than_ _anything ever before, that I'm willing to try. Even if I_ _g_ _et punished later_

As I go to reach for his shirt he takes a step back.

"No, no," he admonishes and glances down at the very evident bulge in the front of his jeans.

With a Cheshire grin, I drop to my knees in front of him. If he was going to tease me to the brink of insanity, I would return the favor. I easily undo the button of his jeans and pull the zipper down before yanking his jeans and boxer-briefs down his legs as far as they will go, effectively freeing his gorgeous cock. _Mine._

With a salacious grin, I quickly remove my bra. Then, I coquettishly peek up at him through my lashes, to find that he's gazing at me with a look that I can't quite make out.

He easily steps out of his jeans and pulls off his socks before I boldly take hold of him in my hand, rubbing my thumb along his tip and effectively spreading his precum along his length. I squeeze his girth tightly, using his precum as a lubricant to push my hand back like he's shown me so may time before. I watch in fascination as he groans and tenses, hissing through clenched teeth. Feeling quite proud, I tentatively put him in my mouth and begin to suck hard on his delicious cock.

 _Mmm, he always tastes so damn good._

"Ahh. Ana . . . whoa, gently."

He tenderly cups my head, and I push him deeper into my mouth, pressing my lips together as tightly as I can, sheathing my teeth, and sucking hard until his swollen head hits the back of my throat.

"Fuck," he hisses.

I revel in just how desperate he sounds, so I do it again, pulling his engorged length deeper into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the end before breathing out through my nose, letting his cock slide down into my throat, until my nose is nestled against his skin. _Christian Grey and his cock are_ _all mine._

"Ana, that's enough. I can't take it anymore," he growls.

Instead of conceding, I choose to do it again. I want him to beg— _Beg_ _me_ _, Grey_ _. Beg me to release your cock and fuck you_ —over and over again.

"Ana, you've made your point," he grunts through gritted teeth. "I do _not_ want to come in your mouth, Little One. I want to come in your sweet little cunt."

His delicious words spur me on to do it once more, so he bends down, grasps me by my shoulders, hauls me to my feet, and tosses me back onto the bed with a fierce growl. Reach back, he drags his shirt over his head, before he then reaches down to his discarded jeans to produce my least favorite type of a foil packet. He's panting, in angst, his cock dripping with arousal just like I am as he holds the packet between his fingers.

"Lie down. I want to look at you."

Taking his order seriously, I lie back and spread my legs for him, gazing up at him as he slowly rolls the condom on his length. I crave him and I know that as I watch him lick his lips, he's enjoying what he sees as he stares down at my dripping core.

"You are a fine sight to behold, Anastasia Steele." He bends over the bed and begins to slowly crawl up and over me, kissing every inch of my exposed and accessible skin as he goes. Each of my breasts are teased in turn, my sensitive nipples hardening beneath his skilled touch. Not once does he stop, even as I writhe and groan beneath him.

"Christian, please."

"Please what?" he murmurs between my breasts.

"I want you inside of me," I breathe.

"Do you now?"

"Please."

"I told you that you would beg."

"Back at you, Grey," I gasp.

Gazing at me intensely, he pushes my legs apart until they hit the mattress and moves so that he's hovering over me. Without taking his eyes off of mine, he takes hold of his cock, rubbing the engorged head up and down my swollen lips before he sinks into me at a deliciously slow pace.

I close my eyes, relishing in the full, exquisite feeling of his possession. Instinctively, I tilt my pelvis up to meet him, to join us as one, groaning loudly in protest as he eases back before he carefully fills me again. My fingers find their way into his unruly hair, and he begins to slowly move in and out of me again, filling my pussy with more and more of his length each time. Until finally, I feel the base of his cock meet my core.

"I need it faster, Christian, faster . . . oh, _please_."

He gazes down at me in wicked triumph and gives me one long, hard kiss before he really starts to move. He begins a punishing, relentless pace, letting his balls slap against my skin so hard, that— _oh fuck_ —I know it won't be long. The pounding rhythm he sets shatters my bones and all too soon I start to clamber towards the edge, my legs tensing around his waist.

"Come on, baby," he gasps. "Your orgasms are mine, Little One. I own them all. Give it to me."

His words are my undoing, and I explode, shattering around him into a million little pieces, and he follows, calling out my name.

"Anastasia! Oh _fuck_ , Ana!" He buries his head in the crook of my neck as he collapses on top of me.

As sanity returns, I open my eyes and gaze up into the face of the man I love. _Christian Grey._ Christian bears his weight on his elbows, holding my hands so that I don't touch him as he lovingly strokes his nose against mine. Planting a gentle kiss on my lips, he eases himself out of me and I can't help but to cry out in protest.

"I've missed this," he breathes.

"Me, too," I whisper.

He takes hold of my chin and kisses me again. A passionate, beseeching kiss, that seems to be asking me for something, while leaving me breathless.

 _But what?_

"Don't leave me again. Don't let me leave you," he implores, looking deep into my eyes, his face serious.

 _Ah, there it is._

I find myself whispering as u smile at him bashfully. "Okay." His answering smile is a dazzling combination of relief, joy, and boyish delight that could melt the coldest of hearts.

A moment later, he gently pulls out of me the rest of the way before he stands and disappears, only to return with a warm washcloth. After cleaning us both he crawls into bed and lays down with me.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to revel in the fact that I am curled up in the arms of Christian Grey. My back is to his chest, and his arms are wound around my waist with his nose buried in my hair. It's pure bliss. It's the moment I've longed for after countless nights spent alone in my bed after he left for home. It's then that the weight of the moment comes crashing down around me.

"What I feel for you, it scares me, Christian," I whisper.

He stills behind me and lets out a small sigh of frustration, before his next quiet words. "Me too, baby. Me too."

"What if you leave me?"

 _The mere idea is_ _horrific._ _If it were to actually happen, I don't think I could survive it._

"Oh, Anastasia. You could never get rid of me that easily. I'm not going anywhere. Somehow, I don't think I could ever have my fill of you, Little One."

I turn and gaze at him over my shoulder to find that his expression is both serious and sincere. I lean over and place a gentle kiss on his lips, earning myself one of his sweet, but rare smiles just as he tucks a wild tendril of hair back behind my ear.

"Never have I felt the way I felt when you left, baby. The moment you walked out that door, I knew I had fucked up. I would move heaven and earth to avoid feeling that way ever again, Little One." His words sound so sad, that my heart nearly breaks.

"You will never feel that way again, Christian. I'm your Little One. Forever and always."

"My sweet, sweet Anastasia," he murmurs as he cups my chin and gives me a chaste but loving kiss.

"Will she come looking for you?"

"No. Sleeping pills. I'm all yours, sweet girl."

I gaze into his eyes for several moments, studying the specks of blue in their gray depths before pursuing my next line of questioning.

"Will you tell me what you found out after I left?" I ask quietly.

"Elliot told me about her being there," he says quietly. "I don't remember sleeping with her Ana. If I did . . . it had to of been that night I was drunk and worried about you. I swear to you, that to my knowledge, I have not slept with Leila. She's not on birth control. I never wanted to take that risk that with her."

"I know," I murmur. "I believe you. Besides, Dr. Greene hinted that it was an oral infection on someone else's end."

Christian's eyes widen for a brief second and he shakes his head.

"Unbelievable. Do you remember the night of Leila's birthday?"

"When we had sex on the couch with her asleep in the chair in the same room? How could I forget?" I grin. "That was some of the best sex of my life."

Christian chuckles before he shakes his head with fake admonishment.

"My little exhibitionist, huh? I would _hope_ , that _all_ of the sex you've had has been the best because it's all been with _me_."

"I don't know about that. In the early days, I gave myself some pretty wicked orgasms thinking about you and what your cock would be like," I say teasingly. "Of course, the real thing is far better than my imagination."

"Damn right," he grins and winks before shaking his head. "Anyway, I woke up that morning on the couch, thinking it was you touching me. I had been having this fantastic dream about your lips around my cock."

"Only it wasn't a dream. It was Leila," I finish.

He nods and looks at me with regret.

"I am so sorry, Little One. I never meant to hurt you. I would do anything to avoid putting you through that kind of pain."

"Being that she must not have ever done that before, do you think it's possible that she heard us that night?"

"Do you?" he asks seriously.

I frown as I think about it. It seemed highly unlikely that Leila wouldn't react if she found out that I had been sleeping with her husband.

"No. You're right. If she knew, she would have more than likely murdered me. Although, that makes me think about some thoughts I had earlier this evening."

"If it's about Geoffrey Porter, then those thoughts can wait until tomorrow. I don't really care what they're up too because you and I belong to each other."

I kiss him again, lingering for just a moment as we both hum happily. After talking about Leila and Geoffrey, I want to somehow lighten our mood, but Christian does it for me.

"Go to sleep now, Little One. Tomorrow you must endure a shopping trip with Mia."

"What?!" I screech and he laughs, tossing his head back.

"Oh, Anastasia," he murmurs fondly. "Go to sleep, or I'll be forced to spank you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I reply, cheekily.

He swats my ass once before he pulls me back into his arms, and wraps himself around me tightly as if he's a cobra and I'm his prey.

"Sleep."

"Yes, Sir."

Kissing my hair, I feel him smile and for the first time in Eleven Days Post-Christian, I relax.

I could happily say my days spent as Post-Christian were no more.

 **A Note from the Author:**

 **Quick Edit: it's important to note that while Christian was diagnosed with the STI Chlamydia he has taken a full course of antibiotics and his only sexual partner is Ana.**

 **As for Ana, she was never officially diagnosed with an STI. She never caught the infection BUT she has also taken the full course of antibiotics.**

 **They've also used a condom and while I myself would never have sex so soon after something so serious, Christian and Ana are merely characters. They're also both hot, in love, and haven't had amazing sex in over a week. Give 'em a break.**

 **Many apologies for such a late update. Life got in the way of posting. For information about updates and such join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates. The link is in my profile.**

 **Recommended FanFiction: Constant Craving by mllezeau**

 **xoxo, Sara Jo**


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